ChapterOne

“Whatthefug?”
Havendropshercupcake,theonewiththepinkfrosting,redsprinkles,andsilverskirt.Herheavily

made-up eyes searching mine as I glance around the busy plaza and cringe. Instantly regretting my
decisiontocomehere,foolishenoughtothinkatriptoherfavoritecupcakeplaceonanicesummerday
wouldbethebestplacetobreakthenews.Likethatlittlestrawberrycakewouldsomehowsweetenthe
message.ButnowI’mjustwishingwe’dstayedinthecar.

“Insidevoice.Please.”Iaimforalightdeliverybutendupsoundinglikeacrankyoldschoolmarm

instead.Watchingassheleansforward,tucksherlong,platinum-streakedbangsbackbehindherear,and
squints.

“Excuseme?Butareyouforreal?Imean,hereyoudropamajorbombonme—andImeanmajor—

asinmyearsarestillringingandmyheadisstillspinningandIkindofneedyoutorepeatitjusttomake
sureyoureallydidsaywhatIthink—andyouronlyconcernisthatI’mtalkingtooloud?Areyoukidding
me?”

I shake my head and glance all around, slipping into full-on damage control mode as I lower my

voiceandsay,“It’sjust—nobodycanknow.It’sgottoremainsecret.It’simperative,” I urge, realizing
toolatethatI’mtalkingtotheonepersonwho’sneverbeenabletokeepanyone’ssecret,muchlessher
own.

Sherollshereyesandslamsbackinherseat,mutteringunderherbreathasItakeamomenttostudy

her closely, dismayed to see the signs already present: her pale skin is luminous, clear, practically
poreless as well, while her wavy brown hair with the blond streak in front is as shiny and glossy as a
high-endshampooad.Evenherteethhavegonestraighter,whiter,andIcan’thelpbutwonderhowthis
happenedsoquickly,withonlyafewsipsofelixir,whenittooksomuchlongerforme.

MyeyescontinuetograzeoverherasItakeadeepbreathanddivein.Forgoingmyusualpromise

nottoeavesdroponmyfriend’sinnermostthoughts,whileIstraintogetabetterlook,aglimpseofher
energy,thewordsshe’snotsharing—surethatifsnoopingeverwaswarranted,it’snow.

Butinsteadofmyusualfront-rowseat,I’mmetbyarock-solidwallthatbarsmefromentering.Even

after I casually slide my hand forward and tap my fingertips against hers, feigning interest in the silver
skullringshewears,Igetnothing.

Herfutureishiddenfromme.
“Thisisjustso—”Sheswallowshardandlooksaround,takinginthebubblingfountain,theyoung

mom pushing a stroller while yelling into her cell phone, the group of girls exiting a swim shop with

armfulsofbags—lookingjustaboutanywherebutatme.

“Iknowit’salottotakein—butstill—”Ishrug,knowingI’vegottomakeabettercasebutnotquite

surehowtodoit.

“A lot to take in? Is that how you see it?” She shakes her head and drums her fingers against the

armrestofhergreenmetalchairashergazeslowlysweepsoverme.

Isigh,wishingI’dhandledthisbetter,wishingIcoulddosomethingtomakeitgoaway,butit’stoo

lateforthat.I’venochoicebuttodealwiththismessthatImade.“IguessIwashopingthat’showyou’d
seeit.”Ishrug.“Crazy.Iknow.”

Shetakesadeepbreath,facesostill,soplacid,it’simpossibletoread,andI’mjustabouttospeak,

justabouttostartbeggingforgiveness,whenshesays,“Seriously?Youmademeanimmortal?Like—for
reals?”

Inod,stomachajumbleofnervesasIsitupstraighterandpullmyshouldersback,bracingforthe

blow that’s surely headed my way. Knowing that whatever she gives, be it verbal or physical, I’ve no
choicebuttotakeit.Ideservenothinglessforwreckingherlifeassheknowsit.

“I’mjust—”Shesucksinherbreathandblinksseveraltimes,heraurainvisible,offeringnoclueto

hermood,nowthatI’vemadeherlikeme.“Well—I’minatotalstateofshock.Imean,seriously.Idon’t
evenknowwhattosay.”

I press my lips together and drop my hands to my lap, worrying the crystal horseshoe bracelet I

alwayswearasIclearmythroatandsay,“Haven,listen,I’msosorry.So—very—very—sorry.Youhave
noidea.Ijust—”Ishakemyhead,knowingIshouldcuttothechasebutfeelinglikeIneedtoexplainmy
sideofthings—theimpossiblechoiceIwasforcedtomake—howitfelttoseehersopale,sohelpless,
teeteringonthevergeofdeath,everyshallowbreathquitepossiblyherlast—

ButbeforeIcanevenbeginsheleanstowardme,eyeswideandfixedonmine.“Areyouinsane?”

She shakes her head. “You’re actually apologizing, when I’m just sitting here, so psyched, so totally
gobsmacked,Ican’tevenimaginehowI’lleverrepayyou!”

Huh?
“Imean,thisisjustsofuggingcool!”Shegrins,bouncingupanddowninherseat,facelightingup

likeathousand-wattbulb.“It’sseriouslythecoolestfuggingthingthat’severhappenedtome—andIowe
italltoyou!”

I gulp, nervously glancing around, unsure how to react. This is not what I expected. Not what I

preparedfor.Thoughit’sprettymuchexactlywhatDamenwarnedmeabout.

Damen—mybestfriend—mysoulmate—theloveofmylives.Myamazinglygorgeous,sexy,smart,

talented,patient,andunderstandingboyfriendwhoknewthiswouldhappenandbeggedtocomealongfor
thisveryreason.ButIwastoostubborn.InsistingIdoitalone.I’mtheonewhoturnedher—I’mtheone
whomadeherdrinktheelixir—soI’mtheonewhoshouldexplain.Onlyit’snotgoingatalllikeIthought.
Notevenclose.

“I mean, it’s like being a vampire, right? Minus the bloodsucking?” Her sparkling eyes eagerly

searchmine.“Oh,andwithoutallthecoffinsandsunavoidancetoo!”Hervoiceriseswithglee.“Thisis
soamazing—likeadreamcometrue!EverythingI’veeverwantedhasfinallyhappened!I’mavampire!A
beautifulvampire—butwithoutallthegruesomesideeffects!”

“You’renotavampire,”Isay,voicedull,listless,wonderinghowitgottothispoint.“There’sno

suchthing.”

Nope, no vampires, no werewolves, no elves, no fairies—just immortals, whose ranks, thanks to

Romanandme,arequicklymultiplying...

“Andhowcanyoubesureofthat?”Havenasks,browraised.

“Because Damen’s been around a lot longer than I have,” I say. “And he’s never met one—or met

anyone who’s met one. We figure the vampire legends all stem from immortals, only with a few big
distortions—like the bloodsucking, not being able to go out in sunlight, and the whole being allergic to
garlicthing.”Ileantowardher.“It’sallbeenaddedonforextradrama.”

“Interesting.” She nods, though her mind is clearly elsewhere. “Can I still eat cupcakes?” She

motionstowardthedentedstrawberrymess,onesidecavedin,flattenedagainstitscardboardcontainer,
whiletheothersideremainsfluffy,beggingtobeeaten.“OristheresomethingelseI’msupposedto—”
Eyesgoingwide,givingmenotimetoreplybeforesheslapsthetableandsqueals,“Omigod—it’sthat
juice,isn’tit?ThatredstuffyouandDamenalwaysdrink!That’sit,huh?So,whatareyouwaitingfor!
Handitoveralready,let’smakeitofficial—Ican’twaittogetstarted!”

“I didn’t bring any,” I say, seeing her face drop in disappointment as I rush to explain. “Listen, I

knowyouthinkitsoundsreallycoolandall—andsomeofitis,there’snodoubtaboutthat.Imean,you’ll
nevergrowold,nevergetzitsorsplitends,you’llneverhavetoworkout,andyoumightevengrowtaller
—whoknows?Butthere’sotherstufftoo—stuffyouneedtoknow—stuffIhavetoexplaininorderto—”
Mywordsarehaltedbythesightofherjumpingoutofherchairsoquicklyandgracefullyshe’slikeacat
—yetanotherimmortalitysideeffect.

Hopping from foot to foot as she says, “Please. What’s to know? If I can jump higher, run faster,

never age or fade away—what else could I possibly need? Sounds like I’m good to go for the rest of
eternity.”

I glance around nervously, determined to curb her enthusiasm before she does something crazy—

somethingthat’lldrawthekindofattentionwecannotafford.“Haven,please.Sit.Thisisserious.There’s
moretoexplain.Alotmore,”Iwhisper,thewordsharsh,brutal,buthavingnoeffectwhatsoever.Shejust
standstherebeforeme,shakingherheadandrefusingtobudge.Sodrunkonhernewimmortalpowershe
skipspastdefiantandheadsstraightforbelligerent.

“Everythingisseriouswithyou,Ever.Every—single—thingyousayanddoisjustsodangserious.

Imean,seriously,youhandmethekeystothekingdomthendemandIstayputsoyoucanwarnmeabout
thedarkside?Howcrazyisthat?”Sherollshereyes.“Comeon,unclenchalittle,wouldya?Letmetryit
out,takeitforatestdrive,seewhatI’mcapableof.I’llevenraceyou!Firstonetomakeitfromthecurb
tothelibrarywins!”

Ishakemyheadandsigh,wishingIdidn’thavetodoit,butknowingalittletelekinesisisinorder.

It’stheonlythingthat’llputanendtoallthisandshowherwho’sreallyinchargearoundhere.Narrowing
myeyes,Ifocushardonherchair,drivingitacrossthepaverssofastitbucklesherkneesandforcesher
tosit.

“Hey—thathurt!”Sherubsherlegandglares.
ButIjustshrug.She’simmortal,it’snotlikeshe’llbruise.Besides,there’splentymoretoexplain

andnotenoughtimeifshecontinueslikethis,soIleantowardher,makingsureIhaveherfullattention
when I say, “Trust me, you can’t play the game if you don’t know the rules. And if you don’t know the
rules,someone’sboundtogethurt.”

ChapterTwo

Havenhurlsherselfintomycar,scrunchingherbodytightlyagainstthedoorandproppingherfeeton

theseat.Frowningandglaringandmumbling—afulllitanyofcomplaintsleveledatme—asIpulloutof
thelotandontothestreet.

“Rulenumberone.”Iglanceather,pushingmylongblondhairoutofmyface,determinedtoignore

her openly hostile gaze. “You—can’t—tell—anyone.” I pause, allowing the words to sink in before
adding,“Seriously.Youcan’ttellyourmom,yourdad,yourlittlebrotherAustin—”

“Please.”Sheshifts,crossinganduncrossingherlegs,tuggingatherclothesandjigglingherfootina

waysoantsy,sosquirmy,it’sclearshecanbarelystandtobecontainedherewithme.“Ibarelytalkto
themanyway.”Shescowls.“Besides,that’sarepeat.Youalreadysangthatoneloudandclear.So,come
on,keepitmoving,let’sjustget’emoveranddonewith,soIcangetoutofhereandstartmynewlife.”

Iswallowhard,refusingtobeeitherrushedorswayed,gazingatherasIstopatalight,determined

sheunderstandthefullimportanceofthiswhenIadd,“AndthatincludesMiles.Undernocircumstances
whatsoevercanyoutellhim.”

Sherollshereyesandfiddleswithherring,twistingitaroundandaroundhermiddlefinger,clearly

temptedtoflipitatme.“Fine.Can’ttellanyone.Gotit,”shemumbles.“Next,please!”

“Youcanstilleatrealfood.”Imakemywaythroughtheintersection,slowlypickingupspeed.“But

youwon’talwayswantto,sincetheelixirprettymuchfillsyouupandprovidesallthenutrientsyouneed.
But still, in public anyway, it’s important to keep up appearances, so you have to at least pretend like
you’reeating.”

“Oh,likeyou?”Shelooksatme,browarced,lipcurledintoasmirk.“Youknow,howyousitthere

atlunch,tearingyoursandwichtoshredsandcrumblingyourpotatochipsintotinylittlebitsandthinking
noonenotices?Isthatwhatyou’vebeendoingallthistime?Keepingupappearances?CuzMilesandI
justthoughtyouhadaneatingdisorder.”

Itakeadeepbreathandfocusondriving,keepingmyspeedlight,refusingtolethergettome.Like

the karma Damen’s always going on about—claiming that all of our actions cause a reaction—this is
wheremyactionhasledme.Besides,evenifIcouldgobackanddoitoveragain,Iwouldn’tchangea
thing.I’dmaketheexactsamechoiceasbefore.Becausenomatterhowawkwardthismomentmaybe,
it’sstillbetterthanattendingherfuneral,anydayoftheweek.

“Omigod!”Shelooksatme,hermouthdropping,eyesgoingwide,voiceallhighandsqueakywhen

shesays,“Ithink—IthinkIheardthat!”

My eyes meet hers, and despite the fact that the top is down, despite the fact that the Southern

Californiasummersunisbeatingstraightdownonus,myskingoesinstantlychilled.

Thisisnotgood.Notgoodatall.
“Yourthoughts!Youwerethinkingsomethingaboutbeinggladyoudidn’thavetogotomyfuneral,

right?Imean,Iactuallyheardyourwordsinmyhead.Thatissocool!”

Iimmediatelyraisemyshield,barringallaccesstomymind,myenergy,everything,allofit.More

thanalittlefreakedbythefactthatshewasabletodothatwhenIcan’treadhers,andIhaven’tevenhad
achancetoshowherhowtoshieldherselfyet.

“Soyouguysweren’tkidding,wereyou?Aboutthewholetelepathything?YouandDamenreallydo

readeachother’sminds.”

Inod,slowly,reluctantly,asshesurveysmewitheyesthatshinebrighterthanever.Whatwasonce

youreveryday,basicshadeofbrown,oftenhiddenbycrazy-coloredcontacts,isnowabrilliantswirlof
gold,topaz,andbronze—yetanotherimmortalitysideeffect.

“Ialwaysknewyouguyswereweird—butthistakesittoawholenewlevel.AndnowIcandoit

too!Jeez,IwishMileswashere.”

Iclosemyeyesandshakemyhead,strivingforpatienceandwonderinghowmanymoretimesI’ll

havetorepeatthis,whenIbrakeforapedestrianandsay,“Butyoucan’ttellMiles—remember? We’ve
alreadybeenoverthat.”

Sheshrugs,mywordsglancingrightoffher,asshetwirlsachunkofglossybrownhairaroundand

aroundherindexfinger,smilingasablackBentleypullsuprightbesideuswithsomekidfromourschool
behindthewheel.

“Fine.Fine!Seriously,Iwon’ttellhim.Chillaxalready,wouldya?”Shezerosinonourclassmate,

smiling and flirting and waving, even going so far as to blow a series of air kisses at him, and then
laughingwhenhedoesadoubletake.“Thesecret’ssafe.I’mjustusedtotellinghimwhenexcitingstuff
happens,that’sall.It’sahabit.I’msureI’llgetoverit.Butstill,yougottaadmit,it’sprettydangcool,
right?Imean,how’dyoureactwhenyoufirstfoundout?Weren’tyoutotallypsyched?”Shelooksatme,
smilingwhensheadds,“Nopunintended.”

Ifrown,pushingthegasharderthanImeantto,thecarlurchingforwardasmymindtravelsbackto

thatveryfirstday—or,atleastthefirsttimeDamentriedtobreakthelife-alteringnewsoutintheparking
lotatschool.ButIwasn’tupforlisteningthen.AndIwasprettymuchasfarfromexcitedasitgets.Then,
thesecondtimeheinsistedonexplainingourlongandtangledpast,Iwasstillonthefence.Imean,onthe
onehandIthoughtitwasprettycoolthatwecouldfinallybetogetheraftercenturiesofbeingkeptapart.
Butontheother,itwasalottotakein.Alottogiveup.

Andwhileatfirstwethoughtthechoicewasallmine—thatIcouldcontinuetodrinktheelixirand

embracemyimmortality—orignoreitcompletely,liveoutmylife,andsuccumbtomydeathatsomepoint
inthefardistantfuture—nowweknowbetter.

Nowweknowthetruthaboutanimmortal’sdemise.
NowweknowabouttheShadowland.
Theinfinitevoid.
Theeternalabyss.
Theplacewhereimmortalslinger—soulless—isolated—forallofeternity.
Aplaceweneedtosteerclearof.
“Um,hel-lo—earthtoEver?”Shelaughs.
ButIjustshrug.It’stheonlyanswerIplantogive.
Whichonlypromptshertoleantowardmeandsay,“Excuseme,butIsodon’tgetyou.”Hereyes

rakeoverme.“Thisislikethebestdayofmyentirelifeandallyouwanttodoisfocusonthenegatives.I

mean, hel-lo? Psychic powers, physical prowess, ageless youth, and beauty—does it mean nothing to
you?”

“Haven,it’snotallfunandgames,it’s—”
“Yeah, yeah.” She rolls her eyes and slams back in her seat, pulling her knees to her chest as she

wraps her arms tightly around them. “There are rules—a downside. Roger that, loud and clear.” She
frowns, gathering her hair to the side and twisting it around and around into a glossy brown coil. “But
jeez,don’tyouevergettiredofit?Ofalwaysbeingsoburdened,soweighteddownbytheworld?It’s
like, you have the best life ever. You’re blond, blue-eyed, tall, fit, gifted, oh, and to top it all off, the
sexiest guy on the planet just happens to be madly in love with you.” She sighs, wondering how I can
possiblybesoblindtohertruth.“Imean,let’sfaceit,you’vegotthekindoflifeotherpeoplecanonly
dream of—and yet, you make it look like the road to Suck City. And honestly, I’m sorry to say it, but I
thinkthat’scrazy.Cuzthetruthis,Ifeelfantastic!Electrified!Likealightningbolt’ssurgingthroughmy
bodyfrommyheadtomytoes!AndnowayamIjoiningyouonyourjourneytoSadLand.NowayamI
slinking around campus in fugly hoodies and sunglasses with an iPod practically implanted in my head
like you used to do. I mean, at least now I know why you did it, to avoid all the voices and thoughts,
right?Butstill,nofuggingwayamIlivinglikethat.Iplantoembraceit—withbotharms.Ialsoplanto
kicksomeseriousStacia,Honor,andCraigbuttiftheysomuchasbothermeormyfriends!”Sheleans
forward,elbowsonherkneesasshenarrowshergaze.“WhenIthinkofallthecraptheyputyouthrough
andhowyoujustrolledoverandtookit—”Shepursesherlips.“Idon’tgetit.”

Ilookather,knowingIcanjustlowermyshield,thinktheanswer,andshe’dhearthewordsinmy

head,butknowingit’llresonatealotmoreifit’sspokenoutloud,Isay,“Iguessbecauseitallcameat
such a high price—the loss of my family—never getting to cross—” I pause, halting the words from
escape. Not quite ready to explain about Summerland, that glorious mystical dimension between the
dimensions, or the bridge that takes all mortals to the other side—or at least not just yet anyway. One
thingatatime.“It’sjustthatI’llalwaysbehere.I’llnevergettocrossoverandseemyfamilyagain—”I
shakemyhead.“And,well,formeanyway,thatfeelslikeaprettybigpenalty.”

Shereachestowardme,hersadpuppydoglookdisplayedonherface,beforequicklypullingaway.

“Oops,sorry!Forgothowyouhatetobetouched.”Shecrinkleshernoseasshetucksawindblownchunk
ofhairbehindhermultipiercedear.

“I don’t hate to be touched.” I shrug. “It’s just sometimes—well, it can be pretty revealing, that’s

all.”

“Willitbelikethatformetoo?”
Ilookather,havingnoideawhatgiftsshehasinstore.She’salreadysofaraheadofthecurve,on

justonebottleofelixir,whoknowswhatafullcasewillbring?

“Idon’tknow.”Ishrug.“SomeofithappenedbecauseIdiedandwentto—”
Her eyes narrow, straining to read my thoughts but not getting very far, thanks to the shield that I

built.

“Well,let’sjustsayIhadanear-deathexperience.Ittendstochangethings.”Ipullontoherstreet.
Shelooksatme,gazefixed,intense,fingersidlypickingatasmalltearinherleggingsasshesays,

“Seemslikeyou’rekindofcherry-pickingthethingsyouwantmetoknow.”Sheraisesherbrow,daring
metodenyit.

ButIdon’t.Idon’tdoanythingbutclosemyeyesandnod.Sotiredoflyingandcoveringupallthe

time.Itfeelsgoodtoadmittoafewthingsforachange.

“CanIaskwhy?”
Iliftmyshouldersandtakeadeepbreath,forcingmygazetomeethers.“It’salottotakeinallat

once. Some of it needs to be experienced to understand—while other stuff—well, a lot of it can wait.
Thoughtherearestillacouplethingsyouneedtoknow.”

I park on her drive and fumble through my bag, handing over a small silk pouch, just like the one

Damengaveme.

“What’sthis?”Shepullsthestringsanddigsherfingerinside,comingawaywithasmallclusterof

colorfulstones,heldtogetherbythingoldstrands,andhangingfromablacksilkcord.

“It’sanamulet.”Inod“It’s—it’simportantyouwearitallthetime.Prettymucheverydayfromnow

on.”

Shesquints,swingingitbackandforth,watchingasthestonescatchandreflectinthesunlight.
“Ihaveonetoo.”Ipullmineoutfromundermytee,revealingmyownclusterofstones.
“Howcomemine’sdifferent?”Sheglancesbetweenthem,comparing,contrasting,tryingtodecide

whichisbetter.

“Because no two are the same—we all have different—needs. And wearing these will keep us

safe.”

Shelooksatme.
“Theyholdprotectivequalities.”Ishrug,knowingI’mtreadingintomurkywaters,thepartDamen

andIdisagreedabout.

She tilts her head and scrunches her face, unable to read my thoughts but well aware I’m holding

back. “Protect us from what exactly? I mean, we’re immortal, right? Which, if I’m not mistaken, pretty
muchmeanswe’llliveforever,andyet,you’retellingmeIneedprotection?Tobekeptsafe?”Sheshakes
her head. “Sorry, Ever, but that just doesn’t make any sense. Who or what could I possibly need to be
protectedfrom?”

I take a deep breath, assuring myself I’m doing the right thing, the only thing, despite what Damen

maythink.Hopinghe’llforgivemeasIsay,“YouneedtobeprotectedfromRoman.”

Sheshakesherheadandcrossesherarms,refusingtobelieve.“Roman?That’sridiculous.Roman

wouldneverhurtme.”

Igape,hardlybelievingmyears,especiallyaftereverythingI’vejusttoldher.
“Sorry,Ever,butRoman’smyfriend.Andnotlikeit’sanyofyourbusiness,butwe’reactuallywell

onourwaytobecomingmorethanfriends.Andsinceit’snosecretyou’vehatedhimfromdayone,it’s
reallynotallthatsurprisingtohearyousayingthisnow.Sad,butnotsurprising.”

“I’m not making it up.” I shrug, striving for a calm I can’t even summon. Knowing that raising my

voice, trying to force her to see things my way, will never work on someone as stubborn as her. “And
yeah,maybeyou’reright,maybeIdon’tlikehim,butconsideringhowhetriedtokillyouandall—well,
callmecrazy,butIthinkthat’sagoodenoughreason.Ievenhavewitnesses—Iwasn’ttheonlyonethere,
youknow!”

Shesquints,fingernailstappingagainstthedoorhandleasshesays,“Okay,soletmegetthisstraight,

Romantriestopoisonmewithsomemessed-uptea—”

“Belladonna—alsoknownasdeadlynightshade—”
“Whatever.”Shewavesitaway.“Thepointis,youclaimhewastryingtokillme,andyetinsteadof

callingnine-one-oneyoujuststrollonovertoseeforyourself?Imean,what’supwiththat?Obviously
youdidn’ttakeitveryseriously,sowhyshouldI?”

“Ididtrytocall—butitwas—complicated.”Ishakemyhead.“Itwasachoicebetween—between

somethingIreallyneed—andyou.Andasyousee,Ichoseyou.”

Shelooksatme,eyeswide,mindcalculating,notsayingaword.
“Roman promised to give me what I need if I just let you die. But I couldn’t do it—and so—” I

gesturetowardher.“Nowyou’reimmortal.”

Sheshakesherheadandgazesaround,focusingonagroupofneighborhoodkidsdrivingajacked-up

golfcartupanddownthestreet.KeepingquietforsolongI’mjustabouttospeakwhenshesays,“Sorry
youdidn’tgetwhatyouwant,Ever,reallyIam.Butyou’rewrongaboutRoman.There’snowayhe’dlet
me die. From what you said, he had the elixir standing by, ready to go in case you chose differently.
Besides,IthinkIknowRomanjustalittlebetterthanyou,andthefactis,heknowshowunhappyI’ve
been, about the stuff going on with my family—” She shrugs. “He probably just wanted to make me
immortaltosparemefromthat,butdidn’twanttosiremesincethere’salotofresponsibilitythatgoes
withit.I’venodoubtthatifyouhadn’tmademedrink,hewould’vesteppedin.Faceit,Ever,youmade
thewrongchoice.Youshould’vejustcalledhisbluff.”

“There’s no sire,” I mumble, inwardly rolling my eyes at myself. Out of that whole entire litany,

that’s what I choose to focus on? I shake my head and start over. “It’s not like that—not even close—
it’s...” Voice fading as she looks away, fully convinced of one thing—she’s right and I’m wrong. And
sinceItriedtowarnheraboutallthedangers—abouthim—Damencan’tpossiblyfaultmeforwhatIsay
next.

“Fine,believewhatyouwant,justdomeafavor.Ifyou’regoingtoinsistonhangingwithRoman,

thenallIaskisthatyoualwayswearyouramulet.Seriously,don’tevertakeitoff—notforanything—and
—”

Shelooksatme,browraised,doorhalfopen,desperatetogetoutofthiscarandawayfromme.
“Andifyou’reseriousaboutrepayingmeformakingyouimmortal—”
Oureyesmeet.
“ThenRomanhassomethingIreallyneedyoutoget.”

ChapterThree

“How’ditgo?”
DamenopensthedoorbeforeIcanknock.Hisgazedeepandintenseashefollowsmeintotheden

whereIdropontohisplushvelourcouchandkickoffmyflip-flops.Carefultoavoidhiseyesashelands
onthecushionbesideme,usuallyalltooeagertospendtherestofeternityjustgazingathim—takingin
thefineplanesofhisface—hishighsculptedcheekbones,lushinvitinglips,theslantofhisbrow,hisdark
wavyhair,andthickfringeoflashes—butnottoday.

TodayI’dprefertolookjustaboutanywhereelse.
“So,youtoldher?”Hisfingerstrailalongthesideofmycheek,thecurveofmyear,histouchfilling

me with tingle and heat despite the ever-present energy veil that hovers between us. “Did the cupcake
providethedistractionyouhopeditwould?”Hislipsnipatmylobebeforeworkingtheirwaydownmy
neck.

Ileanbackagainstthecushions,closingmyeyesinafeignedboutoffatigue.Butthetruthis,Idon’t

want him to see me, to observe me too closely. Don’t want him to sense my thoughts, my essence, my
energy—thatstrange,foreignpulsethat’sbeenstirringinsidemeforthelastseveraldays.

“Hardly.” I sigh. “She pretty much ignored it—guess she’s like us now—in more ways than one.”

Feelingtheweightofhisgazeashestudiesmeintensely.

“Caretoelaborate?”
Iscrunchdownevenlowerandtossmylegoverhis,mybreathslowingasIsettleintothewarmthof

hisenergy.“She’sjust—sofaradvanced.Imean,shehasthewholelook,youknow?Thateerie,flawless,
immortallook.Sheevenheardmythoughts—untilIblockedthem.”Ifrownandshakemyhead.

“Eerie?Isthathowyouseeit—seeus?”Clearlydistressedbymywords.
“Well—notreallyeerie.”Ipause,wonderingwhyIphraseditlikethat.“Morelike—notnormal. I

mean,Idoubtevensupermodelslookthatperfectallthetime.Nottomention,whatarewegonnadoifshe
growsfourinchespracticallyovernightlikeIdid?Howdowepossiblyexplainthat?”

“Samewaywedidwithyou,”hesays,eyesnarrowed,cautious,moreinterestedinthewordsI’mnot

sayingthantheonesthatIam.“We’llcallitagrowthspurt.They’renotthatuncommonamongmortals,
youknow.”Hisvoiceliftsinaweakattemptatlevitythatdoesn’tquitework.

I avert my gaze, taking in the crowded bookshelves filled with leather-bound first editions, the

abstractoilpaintings,mostofthempricelessoriginals,knowinghe’sontome.Heknowssomething’sup,
but I’m hoping he can’t sense just how far it goes. That I’m just saying the words, going through the
motions,notreallyinvestedinanyofthis.

“Andso—doesshehateyoulikeyoufeared?”heasks,voicesteady,deep,theslightestbitprobing.
Ipeerathim,thiswonderfulgloriouscreaturewho’slovedmeforthelastfourhundredyearsand

continuestodosonomatterhowmanyblundersImake,nomatterhowmanylivesImessup.SighingasI
closemyeyesandmanifestasingleredtulipthatIpromptlyhandover.Servingnotjustasthesymbolof
ourundyinglove,butalsothewinningwagerinthebetthatwemade.

“Youwereright—youwin.”Ishakemyhead,rememberinghowshereactedjustlikehesaid.“She’s

thrilledbeyondbelief.Can’tthankmeenough.Feelsjustlikearockstar.No—scratchthat,betterthana
rockstar.Shefeelslikeavampirerockstar.Butyouknow,thenewandimprovedkind—withoutallthat
nastybloodsuckingandcoffinsleeping.”Ishakemyheadandsmileinspiteofmyself.

“A member of the mythical undead?” Damen cringes, not liking the analogy one bit. “I’m not sure

howIfeelaboutthat.”

“Oh,I’msureit’sjustasideeffectofherrecentgothphase.Thethrillwilldiedowneventually.You

know,oncetherealitysinksin.”

“Isthathowitisforyou?”heasks,fingerjustundermychin,makingmelookathimagain.“Isthe

thrilldyingdown—orperhapseven—gone?”Hisgazedeep,knowing,attunedtoeveryshiftofmymood.
“Isthatwhyyoufinditsohardtolookatmenow?”

“No!”Ishakemyhead,fullyawarethatI’vebeencaughtanddesperatetorefuteit.“I’mjust—tired.

I’vebeenfeelingalittle—onedgelately,that’sall.”Inuzzlecloser,buryingmyfaceinthehollowofhis
neck, right next to where the cord for his amulet rests. That edgy prickly feeling I’ve been carrying for
days,tempering,melting,asIinhalehiswarmmuskyscentoverandoveragain.“Whycan’teverymoment
belikethis?”Imurmur,knowingwhatIreallymeanis:Whycan’tIalwaysbelikethis—feellikethis?

Whyiseverythingchanging?
“Itcan.”Heshrugs.“There’sreallynoreasonwhyitcan’t.”
Ipullawayandmeethisgaze.“Oh,Icanthinkofatleasttwoverygoodreasons.”
NoddingtowardRomyandRayne,thetwinterrorswe’renowresponsibleforastheybounddown

thestairs.Identicalintheirstraightdarkhairwithrazor-slashedbangs,paleskin,andlargedarkeyes—
butcompleteoppositesintheirdress.Romywearingapinkterryclothsundresswithmatchingflip-flops,
while Rayne’s barefoot and dressed in all black, with Luna, their tiny black kitten, riding high on her
shoulder. The two of them shooting Damen a happy, warm smile and glaring at me—business as usual,
andprettymuchtheonlythingthathasn’tchangedaroundhere.

“They’llcomearound,”hesays,wantingtobelieveitandwishingIwouldtoo.
“No they won’t.” I sigh, fumbling for my flip-flops. “But then, it’s not like they don’t have their

reasons.”Isliponmyshoesandlookathim.

“Leavingsosoon?”
I nod, avoiding his gaze. “Sabine’s making dinner, Munoz is coming over—it’s a whole bonding

thing.Shewantsustogettoknoweachotherbetter.Youknow,lessstudentteacher,morefuturenonblood
relations.” I shrug, realizing the instant it’s out that I should’ve invited him. It’s incredibly rude not to
includehim.ButDamen’spresencewillonlymesswithmyothereveningplans.Theoneshemaysuspect
but can’t possibly witness. Especially after making his feelings on my foray into magick so abundantly
clear.Tackingonanawkward,“So—youknow...”andleavingittohangthere,danglingbetweenus,since
I’venoideawheretotakeitfromthere.

“AndRoman?”
Itakeadeepbreathasmyeyesmeethis.ThemomentI’vebeenavoidingisnowhere.
“DidyouwarnHaven?Tellherwhathedid?”
Inod.RecallingthespeechIpracticedinthecarallthewayover,abouthowHavencouldbeour

bestchancetogetwhatweneedfromRoman.Hopingit’llsoundbettertohisearsthanitdidmine.

“And?”
Iclearmythroat,allowingmyselfthat,butnothingmore.
He waits for me to continue, the patience of six hundred years stamped on his face, as I open my

mouthtolaunchintomyspeech,butIcan’t.Heknowsmetoowell.Soinstead,Ijustliftmyshouldersand
sigh,knowingwordsareunnecessary,theanswer’sdisplayedinmygaze.

“Isee.”Henods,histonesmooth,even,withoutatraceofjudgment,whichkindofdisappointsme.I

mean,I’mjudgingme,sowhyisn’the?

“But—it’s really not like you think,” I say. “It’s not like I didn’t try to warn her, but she wouldn’t

listen.SoIfigured,whattheheck.Ifshe’sgoingtoinsistonhangingwithRoman,thenwhat’stheharmin
hertryingtosnagtheantidotewhileshe’satit?AndIknowyouthinkit’swrong,believeme,we’vebeen
overthat,butIstilldon’tthinkit’sallthatbigadeal.”

Helooksatme,facecalm,still,betrayingnothing.
“Besides,it’snotlikeweactuallyhaveanyrealproofthathewould’veletherdie.Imean,hehad

theantidoteallalong,heknewwhatI’dchoose.ButevenifIdidprovehimwrong,howdoweknowhe
wouldn’thavegivenhertheelixirhimself?”Itakeadeepbreath,hardlybelievingI’mborrowingHaven’s
argument,thesameoneIbalkedatjustafewmomentsearlier.“Andthen—maybeheevenwould’vetried
toturnthewholethingaround!Youknow,tellherwewerepreparedtoletherdieandendupturningher
againstus!Didyoueverthinkofthat?”

“No.IsupposeIdidn’t,”hesays,lidsnarrowed,concerncloudinghisface.
“Andit’snotlikeI’mnotgonnamonitorthesituationcuzItotallyam.I’llmakesureshe’ssafe.But

shedoeshavefreewill,youknow,it’snotlikewecanchooseherfriendsforher,soIfigured,youknow,
wheninRome...andall...sotospeak...”

“AndwhatabouttheromanticfeelingsHavenholdstowardRoman?Didyouconsiderthat?”
Ishrug,mywordscontainingaconvictionIdon’treallyfeelwhenIsay,“Sheusedtohavefeelings

foryoutooifyou’llremember.Sheseemedtogetoverthatprettyquickly.Anddon’tforgetaboutJosh,the
guyshewasconvincedwashersoulmatewhogotbootedoverakitten.Andnowthatshe’sinaposition
tohaveprettymuchwhateverorwhoevershewants—”Ipause,butonlyforamoment,notlongenough
forhimtointerject.“I’msureRomanwilllosehisallureandslidewaydownonherlist.Imean,Iknow
shecanseemkindoffragile,butshe’sactuallyalottougherthanyouthink.”

Istand,signalinganendtothisconversation.What’sdoneisdoneandIdon’twanthimtodoorsay

anythingthat’llmakemedoubtmystanceonHavenandRoman’srelationshipanymorethanIalreadydo.

Hehesitates,gazemovingoverme,takingmein,thenrisesinone,quick,languidmoveashegrasps

my hand and leads me to the door, where he presses his lips against mine. Lingering, fusing, pushing,
melding,thetwoofusdrawingthiskissoutforaslongaswecan,neitheronewillingtobreakawayfirst.

Ipresshardagainsthim,thecontoursofhisbodybarelydimmedbythatever-presentenergyveilthat

hoversbetweenus.Thebroadexpanseofhischest,thevalleyofhistorso—everyinchofhimconforming
sotightlytomeit’snearlyimpossibletotellwhereheendsandIbegin.Wishingthiskisscoulddothe
impossible—banishmymistakes—thisstrangewayIfeel—chaseawaythedarkangrycloudthatfollows
meeverywherethesedays.

“I should go,” I whisper, the first to break the spell, aware of the heat rising between us, that

incendiarypull,apainfulreminderthat,fornowanyway,thisisasfarasitgoes.

And just as I’ve settled into my car and Damen’s gone back inside, Rayne appears, Luna still

perchedonhershoulder,twinsisterRomyatherside.

“Tonight’sthenight.Moon’smovingintoanewphase,”shesays,eyesnarrowed,lipsgrim.Noother

wordsnecessary,weallknowwhatthatmeans.

Inodandshiftintoreverse,readytobackdownthedrive,whensheadds,“Youknowwhattodo,

right?Yourememberourplan?”

I nod again, hating the fact that I’m in this position, knowing that as far as they’re concerned, I’ll

neverlivethisonedown.

Backing out of the drive and onto the street, their thoughts chasing behind me, burrowing into my

mind,astheythink:It’swrongtousemagickforselfish,nefariousreasons.There’skarmatopay,and
it’llcomebacktimesthree.

ChapterFour

ThefirstthingIseewhenIpullintothedriveisMunoz’ssilverPrius.Which,tobehonest,pretty

muchmakesmewanttoturnaroundandgojustaboutanywhereelse.ButIdon’t.Ijustsighandpullinto
thegarageinstead.KnowingI’venochoicebuttofaceit.

Facethefactthatmyaunt/legalguardianisfallinghardformyhistoryteacher.
Face the fact that it’s a heckuva lot better to sit around the dinner table than the breakfast table,

which,ifthingscontinuetoprogressattherapidpacethattheyare,thenit’sjustamatteroftimebefore
it’s:Good-byeMr.Munoz,helloUnclePaul!I’veseenit.It’sasgoodasdone.NowI’mjustwaitingfor
themtorealizeittoo.

Islipthroughthesidedoor,tiptoeinglightly,hopingtomakeituptomyroomwithoutbeingseensoI

canhavesometimetomyself—timethatIdesperatelyneedinordertosetsomethingsstraight.

PoisedandreadytodashupthestairswhenSabinepokesherheadaroundthecornerandsays,“Oh

good,IthoughtIheardyourcarinthegarage.We’regoingtoeatinabouthalfanhour,butwhydon’tyou
comeinandvisitabitbeforehand.”

IpeeroverhershoulderinsearchofMunoz,butthankstothewallthatseparatesusfromtheden,all

Icanseeareapairofleatherman-sandalsperchedontheoverstuffedottoman,appearingsorelaxedand
casualit’sasiftheydon’tbelonganywhereelsebutthatveryspot.Switchingmygazetoherandtakingin
thesweepofhershoulder-lengthblondhair,theflushathercheeks,hersparklingblueeyes,andrenewing
myvowtobehappythatshe’shappy—eventhoughI’mnotexactlythrilledwiththereasonbehindit.

“I’m—I’llbedowninabit,”Isay,forcingasmile.“I’mjustgonnawashup—andstuff...”Mygaze

drifts back to Munoz, unable to tear it away no matter how disturbing the view. I mean seriously, just
becauseit’ssummerdoesn’tmeanIshouldhavetolookatfacultyfeetinmyownhouse.

“Okay, well, don’t take too long.” She starts to turn, hair swinging over her shoulder as she adds,

“Oh,andIalmostforgot,thiscameforyou.”

Sheswipesacream-coloredenvelopeoffthesidetableandoffersittome.Thewordsmystics&

moonbeams printed in purple on the top left corner, my name and address in Jude’s angular scribble
scrawledacrossthefront.

Ijuststandthereandstare,knowingIcouldgrabit,placemyhandonthefront,andintuitthecontents

withouteverhavingtounsealit.Butthethingis,Idon’twanttotouchit,don’twantanythingtodowithit,
thejobIonceheld,orJude,thebosswho,asitjustsohappens,playedasignificantroleinprettymuch
all of my lives. Reappearing again and again, always managing to claim my affections until Damen
showedupandsweptmeaway.Acenturies-oldlovetrianglethatendedthesecondIsawhisOuroboros

tattoolastThursdaynight.

AndeventhoughDamenclaimsthatlotsofpeoplehavethem—thatitsoriginalmeaningwasn’tatall

evil,thatRomanandDrinajustmadeitthatway,Ican’ttakethechancethathe’swrong.

Can’ttakethechancethatJude’snotoneofthem,whenI’mprettydangsurethatheis.
“Ever?”Sabinetiltsherhead,shootingmeherusuallookthatsays:No matter how many books I

readonthesubject,adolescentsmayaswellbealiens.AlookIknowalltoowell.

Alookthatpromptsmetosnatchtheenveloperightoutofherhand,carefultohandleitbyitsedges

asIsmileweaklyandtacklethestairs.Handsshaking,bodythrumming,asthecontentsrevealthemselves
tobeapaycheckIdefinitelyearnedbuthavenointentionofcashing,alongwithabriefnoteaskingifI’ll
pleaselethimknowifI’venoplanstoreturnsothathecanhireanotherpsychictoreplaceme.

That’sit.
No:Whattheheckhappened?
Or: Why did you go from nearly kissing me to tossing me across your yard and into the patio

furniture?

Butthat’sbecausehealreadyknows.He’sknownallalong.AndwhileImaynotknowjustwhathe’s

upto,he’sclearlyuptosomething.Hemaybeaheadofthegameforthemoment,butunbeknownsttohim,
I’mabouttocatchup.

I toss the envelope toward the trash, figuring my lack of response should be answer enough.

Directingitinacomplicatedchoreographyofloopsandcirclesandoneveryperfect,spot-onfigureeight,
beforebringingitdownwithasoft,barelyheardthudandheadingintomywalk-inclosetwhereIretrieve
theboxfromthetopshelf—theonethatholdsmysupplies—everythingIneedtoundowhatI’vedone.

The time is right—providing for a fresh new start, the perfect opportunity (the only opportunity

according to Romy and Rayne) to break the spell I unwittingly cast when I accidentally summoned the
darkpowerstoaidme.Themoonisnowwaxing,whichmeansthegoddessisrising,makingherascent,
as Hecate, the one I mistakenly called upon before, plummets to the underworld where she’ll mark her
timeuntilamonthfromnowwhenitallcomesfullcircleagain.

I reach into the box, retrieving the candles, crystals, herbs, oils, and incense I’ll need, taking a

momenttoorganizethemneatlyandplacingthemintheorderinwhichthey’llbeused.ThenIshedmy
clothesandlowermyselfintothetubformyritualbath,bringingalongasachetfilledwithangelicafor
protectionandhexremoval,juniperforthebanishingofnegativeentities,andruetoaidinhealing,mental
powers,andthebreakingofcurses,alongwithafewdropsofpetitgrainoilthatpromisestobanishevil
and remove all negativity. Sinking all the way down ’til my feet hit the far edge and the water fills up
aroundme,grabbingafewclearquartzcrystalsfromtheledgeandploppingthemintoo,asIchant:

Icleanseandreclaimthisbodyofmine

Sothatmymagickmayproperlybind

Myspiritreborn,nowreadyforflight

Allowingmymagicktotakeholdtonight.

ButunlikethelasttimeIindulgedinasoak,Idon’tenvisionRomanbeforeme.Idon’twanttosee

himuntilI’mready,untilit’sabsolutelynecessary.Untilit’strulytimetoundowhatI’vedone.

AnyearlierisariskIcan’ttake.
Eversincethedreamsbegan,Ican’ttrustmyself.
ThefirstnightIwokeinthatcold,clammysweatwithimagesofRomanstilldancinginmyhead,I

was sure it was just a result of the horrible night that I’d had—learning the truth about Jude—turning

Havenbygivingherthejuice.Butthefactthatthey’vereturnedeverynightsince,thefactthatheintrudes
notjustinmynightdreamsbutinmydaydreamsaswell,thefactthatthey’reaccompaniedbythisweird,
foreignpulsethat’sconstantlystrumminginsideme—well,it’sprettymuchconvincedmethatRomyand
Rayneareright.

Despitemyfeelingperfectlyfinejustafterthespellwascomplete,later,wheneverythingbeganto

unravel,itbecameprettyclearthatthedamageI’ddonewasnothingshortofmajor.

InsteadofbindingRomantome—Iboundmyselftohim.
Insteadofhimseekingmeoutinordertodomybidding—I’mshamelessly,hopelessly,seekinghim.
Which is something Damen can never know. No one can know. Not only does it prove his earlier

warningaboutthedownsideofmagick,insistingthatit’snothingtobetoyedwith,andthatamateurswho
immersethemselvestooquicklyoftenwindupinwayovertheirheads—itmaybetheendofhispatience
withme.

Itmaybethatlastandfinalstraw.
Itakeadeepbreathandsinkevenlower,enjoyingthewaythewaterlapsatmychin,asIsoakupall

the healing energies that the stones and herbs are meant to provide, knowing it’s just a matter of time
beforeIridmyselfofthisunholyobsessionandputeverythingright.Andwhenthewaterbeginstocool,I
scrubeverysquareinchofskin,hopingtowashawaythisnewtaintedversionofmeinordertorecover
theold,thenIclimboutofthebathandstraightintomywhitesilkhoodedrobe.TyingthesashsnuglyasI
headbackintomyclosetandreachformyathame.ThesameoneRomyandRaynecriticized,claimingit
wastoosharp,thatitsintentshouldbetocutenergynotmatter,thatI’dmadeitallwrong—urgingmeto
burn it, melt it down to a stub of metal, and hand it over to them so they could complete the banishing
ritual,nottrustingsuchacomplextasktoamisguidednovicelikeme.

AndthoughIagreedtoburnitbeforethem,runningthebladethroughtheflameagainandagainina

sort of magical sanctification, I shrugged off the rest of their plan, convinced they were just seizing the
chancetomakeanevenbiggerfoolofme.Imean,iftherealproblem,astheyclaimed,wasmyweavinga
spellonthenightofthedarkmoon,thenwhatdifferencecouldasimpleknifemake?

Butthistimearound,justtomakesure,Iaddafewadditionalstonestoitshandle,adorningitwith

Apache’stearforprotectionandluck(whichthetwinsareconvincedI’llneedplentyof),bloodstonefor
courage,strength,andvictory(alwaysagoodcombination),andturquoiseforhealingandstrengtheningof
thechakras(apparentlymythroatchakra,thecenterofdiscernment,hasalwaysbeenaproblemforme).
Thensprinklingthebladewithahandfulofsaltbeforerunningitthroughtheflameofthreewhitetapers,I
callupontheelementsoffire,air,water,andearth,tocastawayalldarkandallowonlylight—topush
outallevilandsummonthegood.Repeatingthechantthreetimesbeforecallingonthehighestofmagical
powerstoseethatit’sdone.ThistimesurethatI’mcallingontherightmagicalpowers—summoningthe
goddessinsteadofHecate,thethree-headed,snake-haired,queenoftheunderworld.

Cleansing the space as I walk three times around it, incense held high in one hand, athame in the

other,pullingupthemagickcirclebyvisualizingawhitelightflowingthroughme.Startingatthetopof
myheadandworkingitswaythroughmybody,downmyarm,outtheathame,andintothefloor.Weaving
and curving and circling around and around, encouraging thin strands of the brightest white light to
entwine and grow and reach ever higher until joining as one. Until I’m wrapped in a silvery cocoon, a
complexwebofthebrightest,mostshimmeringlight,thatcompletelysealsmein.

Ikneelonthefloorofmyclean,sacredspace,lefthandheldbeforemeasItracethebladedownthe

lengthofmylifeline,suckinginasharpintakeofbreathasIplungethetipdeepintomyfleshandagreat
swell of blood rushes out. Closing my eyes and quickly manifesting Roman sitting cross-legged before
me,temptingmewithhisirresistible,deepbluegazeandwideinvitingsmile.Strugglingtogetpasthis

mesmerizingbeauty,hisundeniableallure,andstraighttotheblood-soakedcordtiedsnugathisneck.

Acordsoakedwithmyblood.
ThesamecordIplacedtherelastThursdaynightwhenIcreatedasimilarritual—onethatseemedto

workuntileverythingwenttragicallywrong.Butthistime,everythingisdifferent.Myintentisdifferent.I
wantmybloodback.Iintendtounbindmyself.

Hurryingthroughthechantbeforehecanfade,singing:

WiththisknotthatIuntie

Banishthismagickbeforethineeye

Whereoncethiscordwasboundandtight

Inowreverseittosetthingsright

Yourholdnolongerpotent,nowloosedonme

Iunbindthiscordandsetmyselffree

LetitharmnoneasIsenditaway

Thisverychangetotakeholdtoday

Thisismywill,myword,mywish—somoteitbe!

Squintingagainstthegaleforcewindthatwhirlsthroughmycircle,pushingthewallsofmywebto

theirlimitsasaflashoflightningstrikesandthundercracksloudoverhead.Myrightpalmraised,open,
ready—mygazelockedonhisasImentallyloosentheknotathisneckandsummonthebloodbacktome.

Backtowhereitoriginated.
Backtowhereitbelongs.
Eyes widening in excitement as it arcs straight toward the center of my wounded hand, the cord

aroundhisnecklightening,whitening,untilit’sascleanandpureasthedayitbegan.

But just as I’m ready to banish him for good, free myself of this unholy bind, that strange foreign

pulse,thathideousintruder,snakesthroughmyinsideswithsuchforce,suchdetermination,overtakingme
soquickly,Ican’tstopit.

The monster inside me now fully awakened, rising, stretching, with its insistent, throbbing hunger

demandingtobemet.Causingmyhearttocrashviolently,mybodytoshake—andnomatterhowhardI
struggle against it—it’s no use. I’m a hostage to its longing—captive to its desires—I’m of no
consequencewhatsoever.Myonlypurposeistomeetallitsneeds—toseethatit’sdone.

Watching helplessly as the cycle repeats once again. My blood surging forth, soaking the cord at

Roman’sneck’tilitsags,redandheavy,drippingathicktrailofmedownhischest.AndnomatterwhatI
do—nomatterhowhardItry—there’snostoppingit.

Nostoppingtheundeniablelureofhisgaze.
Nostoppingmylimbsfromyieldingtowardhis.
Nostoppingthisspellthatbindsmetohim.
Hisbodylikeamagnetthatseeksonlyme,closingthesmallspacebetweenusinlessthanasecond.

And now, with our knees pressed tightly together, our foreheads flush—I’m defenseless—powerless—
unabletocurbthisunbearableyearningforhim.

He’sallIcansee.
AllthatIneed.
Myentireworldnowwhittleddowntothespacebetweenhisgazeandmine.Hismoist,invitinglips

justarazor’swidthaway,asthisbold,insistentintruder,thisstrange,foreignpulse,urgesmeforward,
willingustomesh,unite,joinasone.

Mylipspushtowardhis,movingcloser,evercloser,whenfromsomewheredowndeep,somewhere

Ican’tquitereach,thememoryofDamen,hisscent,hisimage,flickersinside.Nomorethanabriefflash
of light in the midst of all this dark—but still enough to remind me of who I am, what I am—my real
reasonforbeinghere.

Justenoughtoallowmetobreakfreeofthishorribledreamscapeandshout,“No!”
I leap back, removing myself from him—from this. Moving so quickly and violently the web

collapsesaroundmeasthecandlesextinguishandRomandissolvesfrommysight.

The only trace of what just occurred is my crashing heart, bloodstained robe, and the words still

reverberatinginmythroat.

“No,no,no,no,no,oh,God,please,no!”
“Ever?”
I gaze around the closet, fingers frantically clutching at my white silk robe now stained beyond

repair,hopingshe’lljustgoaway—givemesomespace—oratleastenoughtimetofigurethisout—

“Ever—youokayinthere?Dinner’sjustaboutready,youmightwanttomakeyourwaydown!”
“Okay—I’ll...”Iclosemyeyes,quicklybanishingmyrobeandmanifestingasimplebluedressinits

place. Having no idea what to do now, where to go from here. Though one thing is clear—I can’t tell
Romy and Rayne—they already witnessed my last flubbed attempt, and I’ll never live this one down.
Besides,they’retooclosetoDamen,andthey’llneverforgiveme.

“I’ll be there in a sec, really!” I say, sensing her energy from the other side of the door debating

whetherornottobustin.

“Fiveminutes!”shewarns,voiceresigned.“ThenI’mcomingintogetyoumyself!”
Iclosemyeyesandshakemyhead,shovingmyfeetintosomeflip-flopswhilecombingmyhands

throughmyhair.Takinggreatcaretoensureeverythingappearscleanandpristineontheoutside,because
inside,there’snodoubtthatthingsjusttookamajorturnfortheworse.

ChapterFive

Islipoutthesidegateandontothestreet,thesoftliltingsoundsofSabineandMunozlaughingand

enjoyingthelastoftheirwinebythepooldriftingbehindmeasIbreakintoarun.Carefultotemperthe
pace,goingneithertoofastnortooslow,reluctanttoattractanyundueattentionfromanyonewhomight
see.

It was bad enough having to explain it to Sabine. Especially after having just gulped down three-

quartersofabarbecuedchickenbreast,alumpofpotatosalad,anentirecornonthecob,andaglassand
ahalfofsoda—noneofwhichIwastheslightestbitinterestedin,andwhich,intheend,onlyseemedto
raiseawholenewsuspicion.

Hervoiceallraisedandsqueaky,gonecompletelyhighalertwhenshesaid,“Now?Butit’llbedark

soon—andyoujustate!”Herever-watchfulgazesweepingoverme,asanewpossibilityformedinher
brain—exercisebulimia!

Having ruled out anorexia and just plain old bulimia to explain my odd behavior and even odder

eatinghabits—she’snowontosomethingnew,leavingnodoubtthatatriptoourlocalbookstore’sself-
helpaisleswillbesqueezedintoherweekend’sagenda.

AndIwishIcouldexplainittoher,sitherrightdownandsay,“Relax.It’snotatallwhatyouthink.

I’mimmortal.ThejuiceisallIneedtogetby.Butrightnow,I’vegotalittlespell-castingproblemtofix
so—don’twaitup!”

But that’s never gonna happen. It can’t happen. Damen was clear about keeping our immortality a

secret.Andafterseeingwhat’shappenedwhenit’sgottenintothewronghands,IhavetosayIagreewith
himonehundredpercent.

Butkeepingitasecrethasbeenoneofmygreatestchallenges,andthat’swherethejoggingcomesin.

Iamnow,officially(oratleastwhereSabineandMunozareconcerned),apersonwhoslipsintoaT-
shirt,sneakers,andshortsandgoesforaneveningrun.

AnicehealthyexcuseforgettingoutofthehouseandawayfromMunoz,whomIcan’thelpbutlike

asaperson,eventhoughIneverwantedtogettoknowhimasaperson.

A nice healthy excuse for getting away from an aunt who’s so kind and considerate and helpful

towardmethatIcan’thelpbutfeelliketheworld’sworstnieceforallofthetroubleI’vecaused.

A nice healthy excuse to get away from two wonderful, kindhearted people so I can indulge in a

muchdarker,notatallhealthy,obsession.

Onethat’sgotaholdonme.
OneI’mdeterminedtobeat.

I make a swift left onto the next street, noticing how the cars, the pavement, the sidewalks, the

windowsarealldappledwiththatburnishedgoldthatthetailendofmagichourbrings—theresultofthe
firstandlasthourofsunlightwheneverythingappearssofter,warmer,bathedinthesun’sreddishhaze.
Mymusclespumping,feetmovingfaster,pickingupspeed,eventhoughIknowbetter,eventhoughItryto
slowdown—it’stoodangerous,toorisky,someonemightsee—andyetIkeepgoing.Unabletostopit.No
longertheonewhocontrolsme.

Aiming for my destination like an arrow on a compass, my entire being is focused on one single

point.Cars,houses,people—everythingaroundmeisreducedtoasingle,orangeyblurasIclosestreet
after street. My heart crashing hard against my chest—but not from the run or the exertion, because the
truthis,I’vebarelybrokenasweat.

Thislivewireinsidemeisallabouttheproximity.
ThesimplefactthatI’mnear—
Gettingcloser—
Almostthere.
Likeasirensongpropellingmetowarduncertainruin,andIcan’tseemtogettherequicklyenough.
The second I see it, I stop. My gaze narrows as everything around me ceases to exist. Staring at

Roman’sdoorasIwillthebeasttoretreat.Renewingmyresolvetoovercomethisstrange,foreignpulse
nowbeatinginme,wantingonlytoslipinside,casually,easily,andconfronthimonceandforallsowe
canputanendtoallthis.

Forcingmyselftotakelong,deepbreathsasIsummonthestrengththatI’llneed.Justabouttotake

thatveryfirststepwhenIhearmynamecalledfromavoiceI’dhopednevertohearagain.

Hesaunterstowardme,headcockedtotheside,ascoolandcasualasasummer’sbreeze.Hisleft

armheavilybandagedandwrappedinanavybluesling,stoppingjustshyofme,purposelypositioning
himselfoutofmyreach,whenhesays,“Whatareyoudoing?”

I swallow hard, relieved to feel the pulse lessening, receding, and yet startled to realize my first

instinctisn’ttorun,isn’ttofinishthejobandputtherestofhiminaslingtoo—buttolie.Tomakeany
excuse that I can to explain my heated, gaping, practically salivating presence, right outside Roman’s
store.

“What’reyoudoing?”Isquint,lidsnarrowedtoslitsasIharshlytakehimin.Knowingit’shardlya

coincidence to find him here too. After all, they’re good friends, members of the same immortal rogue
tribe.“Oh,andniceprop,bytheway.”Igesturetowardhissupposedlybanged-uparm,whichprobably
providesaprettygoodcoverforthosewhodon’tknowanybetter.ToobadIdo.

Helooksatme,shakinghisheadandrubbinghischin,voicesteady,calm,almostconvincing,when

hesays,“Ever,areyouokay?You’renotlookingsogood—”

Ishakemyheadandrollmyeyes.“Nicetry,Jude,I’llgiveyouthat.”Fieldinghiswhattheheckare

youtalkingaboutlookwith,“Seriously.Fakingconcernforme,fakinganinjury,you’repreparedtogo
allthewaywiththis,aren’tyou?”

Hefrowns,headtiltedinawaythatallowsafewchunksofgoldenbrowndreadlockstofalloverhis

shoulderandlandjustafewinchesshyofhiswaist.Hisdeceptivelycuteandfriendlyfaceallscrunched
andseriouswhenhesays,“Trustme,I’mnotfaking.WishIwas.Rememberwhenyoupickedmeuplike
aFrisbeeandtossedmeacrossyouryard?”Hemotionstowardhisarm.“Thisistheresult.Acrapload
of contusions, a fractured radius, and some seriously messed-up phalanges—or at least that’s what the
doctorsaid.”

I sigh and shake my head. I’ve no time for this charade. I need to get to Roman, show him that he

can’t control me—means nothing to me—show him who’s boss around here. Sure that he’s somehow

partlyresponsibleforwhat’shappeningtome,andneedingtoconvincehimtogivemetheantidoteand
putanendtothisgame.

“WhileI’msureitalllooksandsoundsverybelievabletomostpeople,unfortunatelyforyou,I’m

not most people. I know better. And the fact is, you know I know better. So let’s just cut to the chase,
okay?Roguesdon’tgethurt.Notforlonganyway.Theyhaveinstantaneoushealingabilities,butthenyou
alreadyknewthat,didn’tyou?”

Helooksatme,browsmergedinconfusion,ashetakesastepback.Andthetruthis,hereallydoes

lookperplexed,I’llgivehimthat.

“What’reyoutalkingabout?”Hegazesallaround,beforefocusingbackonme.“Rogues? Are you

serious?”

I sigh, fingers drumming hard against my hip when I say, “Um, hel-lo? Evil members of Roman’s

tribe?Ringanybells?”Ishakemyheadandrollmyeyes.“Don’tpretendyou’renotoneofthem—Isaw
yourtattoo.”

Hecontinuestostare,thatsameconfused,gapingexpressionstillstampedonhisface.AndallIcan

thinkis:Goodthinghe’snotanactor,he’sgotreallycrummyrange.

“Um, hel-lo! The Ouroboros? On your back?” I roll my eyes. “I saw it. You know I saw it. You

probablywantedmetoseeit—orwhyelsewouldyouconvincemetogetintotheJacuzziwith—”Ishake
my head. “Whatever, let’s just say it pretty much told me everything I needed to know. Everything you
apparentlywantedmetoknow.Sofeelfreetodropthegameanytimenow,I’mallcluedin.”

Hestandsbeforeme,goodhandrubbinghischinashiseyessearchtheareaasthoughlookingfor

backup.Likethat’sgonnahelphim.“Ever,I’vehadthattattooforages—infact,I—”

“Oh,I’llbet.”Inod,refusingtolethimfinish.“Sotellme,howlongagodidRomanturnyou?Which

centurywould it havebeen? Eighteenth, nineteenth?C’mon, you can tellme. Even thoughit was a long
timeago,I’msureyouneverforgetamomentlikethat.”

He rubs his lips together, encouraging those matching dimples to spring into view, but it doesn’t

distractme;thatsortofthingnolongerworks.Notthatiteverreallydid.

“Listen,”hesays,strugglingtokeephisvoicelow,steady,thoughhisauratellsall,takingasudden

turntowardmurkyandfragmented,revealingthefullextentofhisnervousness.“Honestly,Ihavenoidea
whatyou’retalkingabout.Seriously,Ever,incaseyoucan’thearit,thisiscomingoffasprettyinsane.
Andthetruthis,despiteallofthat,despiteallofthis”—hetugsonhissling—“I’dreallyliketohelpyou
—but—well—youseemprettymuchbeyondallofthatwiththeroguesandtheturningand”—heshakes
hishead—“butletmejustaskyouthis—ifthisRomandude’sasbadasyousay,thenwhyareyoulurking
outsidehisstorelookingallchargedandheatedlikeadogwaitingforitsowner?”

Iglancebetweenhimandthedoor,cheeksflushing,pulseracing,wellawareI’vebeencaughtinthe

act,butnotabouttoadmitit.

“I’m not lurking—I’m—” I press my lips together, wondering why on earth I’m defending myself

whenhe’sclearlytheonewho’suptonogood.“Besides,it’snotlikeIcan’taskyouthesamequestion
since,Ihatetobreakittoya,butyou’restandingheretoo.”Myeyesrakeoverhim,takinginthebronzed
skin,theslightlycrookedfrontteeth—mostlikelykeptthatwayonpurpose,tothrowpeopleoff—people
likeme.Andthoseeyes—thoseamazingblue/greeneyes—thesameeyesI’vegazedintoforthelastfour
hundredyears.Butnomore.NotsinceIlearnedhe’soneofthem.Nowwe’reofficiallythrough.

He shrugs and rubs his sling protectively. “Nothing sinister, just headed home, that’s all. If you’ll

remember,wecloseearlyonSaturdays.”

Inarrowmygaze,notfooledforasecond.It’sallveryplausible.Almostbelievable.Butnotquite.
“Iliveupthestreet.”Hemotionstowardsomeunknownplaceinthedistance,aplacethatprobably

doesn’tevenexist.ButIdon’tfollowhishand.Mygazestaysonhis.Ican’taffordtodropmyguard.Not
evenforasecond.Hemayhavefooledmebefore,butnowIknowbetter.NowIknowwhatheis.

Hetakesastepcloser,slowly,cautiously,carefultomaintainasafedistancestilljustoutsideofmy

reach.“Maybewecangograbacoffeeorsomething?Gosomeplacequiet,wherewecansitdownand
talk?Youlooklikeyoucoulduseabreak.Whatdoyousay?”

Icontinuetostudyhim.He’spersistent,I’llgivehimthat.“Sure.”Ismile,noddinginassent.“I’djust

lovetogosomeplacequiet,grabaseat,drinksomejava,andenjoyanice,longchat—butfirst,Ineedyou
toprovesomething.”

Hisbodygoestenseandhisaura—hisfakeaura—wavers,butI’mnotbuyingit.
“Ineedyoutoproveyou’renotoneofthem.”
Hesquints,faceacloudofconcern.“Ever,Idon’tknowwhatyou’re—”
Hiswordscutshortbythesightoftheathamenowclutchedinmyhand.Itsjewel-encrustedhandle

anexactreplicaoftheoneIusedjustafewhoursbefore,figuringI’llneedalltheluckandprotectionthe
stonescanprovide,especiallyifthisgoesthewaythatIthink.

“There’s only one way to prove it,” I say, voice low, gaze locked on his, taking one small step

forwardthat’ssoonfollowedbyanother.“AndI’llknowifyoucheat—sodon’teventry.Oh,andIshould
probably warn ya—I can’t be responsible for what happens once I prove that you’re lying. But don’t
worry,asyouwellknow,this’llonlyhurtforasecond—”

He sees me moving, lunging straight for him, and even though he tries his best to dance out of my

way,I’mtooquick,andI’monhimbeforeheevenrealizesit.

Seizing his good arm and slicing my athame right through his skin, knowing it’s just a matter of

secondsbeforethebloodstopsgushingandthewoundfusestogetheragain.

Justamatteroftimeuntil—
“OhGod!” I whisper, eyes wide, throat dry, watching as he falters, stumbles, and nearly loses his

balance.

Hiseyesdartingbetweenmeandthegashonhisarm,bothofuswatchingasthebloodseepsthrough

hisclothesandpoolsontothestreetinagrowingpuddleofred.“Areyoucrazy?”heshrieks.“Whatthe
hellhaveyoudone?”

“I—”Mymouthhangsopeninshock,unabletoformanywords,unabletotearmygazeawayfrom

thegapinggashthatImade.

Whyisn’tithealing?Why’sitstillbleeding?Oh,crap!
“I’m—I’m so sorry—I can explain—I—” I reach toward him, but he moves away, clumsily,

unsteadily,wantingnothingmoretodowithme.

“Listen,”hesays,slingpressedtothewound,tryingtoebbtheflow,butitonlymakesamuchbigger

mess.“Idon’tknowwhatyourdealis,orwhat’sgoingonwithyou,Ever,butwe’redonehere.Youneed
towalkaway—now!”

Ishakemyhead.“Letmetakeyoutothehospital.There’sanemergencyroomjustdownthestreet—

andI’ll—”

I close my eyes, manifesting a plush towel to hold against the wound until we can get some

professionalhelp.Noticinghowpaleandunsteadyhe’sgone,knowingwe’venotimetowaste.

Ignoringhisprotests,IslidemyarmaroundhimandleadhimtowardthecarIjustmanifested.That

strangeinsistentpulsequietedfornow,butstillforcingmetoglanceovermyshoulderjustintimetosee
Romanwatchingfrombehindthewindow,hiseyesshining,facecreasedwithlaughter,asheflipsthesign
overfrom

OPEN

CLOSED

ChapterSix

“Howishe?”
Itossmymagazineonthesmalltablebesidemeandstand.Carefultoaddressthenurseinsteadof

Jude, since one quick glance is all it takes to see that both of his arms are now heavily bandaged, his
aura’sturnedredwithrage,andiftheangry,cruellookinhisnarrowedeyesisanyindication,heclearly
wantsnothingmoretodowithme.

Thenursestops,hergazetraversingthesixty-eightinchesbetweenmyheadandmytoes.Scrutinizing

mesocloselyIcan’thelpbutcringe—can’thelpbutwonderjustwhatexactlyJudemight’vetoldher.

“He’sgoingtomakeit,”shesays,voicesharp,businesslike,nottheleastbitfriendly.“Cutwentall

thewaytothebone,evenmadeagrooveinit,butitwasclean.Andifhetakeshisantibiotics,it’llstay
that way. He’ll be in a fair amount of pain, even with the meds I gave him, but if he takes it easy, gets
plentyofrest,itshouldbehealedinamatterofweeks.”

HergazemovestothedoorandIfollowit.JustintimetoseetwouniformedmembersofLaguna

Beach’sfinestheadingrighttowardme,theireyesdartingbetweenJudeandme,andstoppingwhenthe
nursenodsaffirmatively.

Ifreeze,swallowingpastthelumpinmythroatasIpullmyshouldersin,shrinkingundertheglareof

Jude’s dark, hostile gaze. Knowing I deserve every last bit of his anger, deserve to be handcuffed and
hauledaway—butstill—Ididn’tthinkhe’dactuallydoit.Ididn’tthinkitwouldcometothis.

“So, anything you want to tell us?” They stand before me, legs spread wide, hands on hips, eyes

hiddenbetweenmirroredlenses,takingmein.

I glance between the nurse, Jude, and the cops, knowing this is it. This is what it’s come to. And

despiteallthetroubleI’min,allIcanthinkis:WhowillIpickformyonephonecall?

I mean, it’s not like I can ask Sabine to wave her lawyer’s wand and get me out of this one—I’ll

neverliveitdown,andit’snotlikeIcanexplainittoDameneither.ClearlythisisonedilemmaIhaveto
dealwithalone....

AndI’mjustabouttoclearmythroat,justabouttosaysomething,anything,whenJudejumpsinand

says,“Ialreadytoldher”—henodstowardthenurse—“itwasahomerepairgonewrong.Didn’tknow
mylimits.GuessI’lldefinitelyhavetohireahandymannow.”Heforcesasmile,forceshisgazetomeet
mine.AndeventhoughIwanttosmilerightback,nodinagreement,andplayalong,I’msoshockedbyhis
words,athisdefendingme,it’sallIcandojusttostandthereandgape.

The cops sigh, obviously unhappy about being called out for nothing, but making one last attempt

whentheylookatJudeandsay,“Yousureaboutthat?Yousurethereisn’tmoretoit?Kindofcrazyto

take on a home repair when you’re down to one hand...” Their heads swivel between us, obviously
suspiciousbutwillingtoletitgoifheis.

“Idon’tknowwhattotellyou.”Judeshrugs.“Itmaybecrazy,butitwaspurelyself-inflicted.”
They frown—at him, at me, at the nurse—and then they mumble something about if he decides to

changehisstoryandslipacardintohispocket.Andthemomentthey’regonethenurseclutchesherslim
well-aerobicized hips, scowls at me, and says, “I gave him something for the pain.” Her gaze busy on
mine, clearly not buying a word of Jude’s story, clearly pegging me as an insanely jealous, completely
crazed, psycho girlfriend who nicked him in a fit of rage. “It should kick in soon, so I don’t want him
driving—not that he can in that condition—” She nods toward his arms. “And make sure he gets this
prescriptionfilled.”Sheholdsupasmallslipofpaper,abouttohandittome,beforeshethinksbetterand
yanksitrightback.“Wewanttowardoffanychanceofinfection,butthebestthinghecandonowistogo
homeandrest.He’llprobablyfallrighttosleep,soIexpectyoutoleavehimaloneandlethimdojust
that.”Shefrowns,hergazelikeachallenge.

“Iwill,”Isay,butI’msofreakedbyherscrutiny,bythepolice,byJude’sdefendingme,thewords

comeoutlikeasqueak.

Hermouthquirkstotheside,obviouslyreluctanttoleaveJudeinmycareortohandtheprescription

over,butshehaslittlechoice.

I follow Jude outside, over to my manifested Miata, an exact replica of the one I usually drive.

Feelingawkward,nervous,barelyabletolookhimintheeye.

“Justpullouthereandmakearight,”hesays,voicelow,groggy,givingnoindicationofwhathe’s

trulythinkingorjusthowhemightfeelaboutme.Andthoughhisauraappearstobesoftening,there’sstill
agoodbitofredclingingtoitsedges,afactthatprettymuchspeaksforitself.“YoucandropmeatMain
Beach.I’lltakeitfromthere.”

“I’mnotdroppingyouatMainBeach,”Isay,takingtheopportunitytostudyhimasIbrakeatalight.

Andeventhoughit’sdarkout,there’snomissingthehollowsunderhiseyes,thesheenofsweatonhis
brow,twounmistakablesignsthathe’ssufferingagreatdealofpain—thankstome.“Seriously,that’sjust
—ridiculous.”Ishakemyhead.“JusttellmewhereyouliveandIpromisetogetyouhomesafely.”

“Safely?”
Helaughs,asortofironicchucklethatcomesfromsomewheredowndeep,histwomessed-uparms

resting on his lap as he says, “Funny, you’ve used that word twice in the last five minutes, and to be
honest,I’mfeelingprettymuchanythingbutsafearoundyou.”

Isigh,gazingintoastarlessnightsky,pressinglightlyonthegasandforegoingmyusualleadfoot

sinceIdon’twanttoalarmhimanymorethanIalreadyhave.“Listen,”Isay.“I—I’msorry.Really and
truly—sorry.”Gazingathimforsolong,henodsnervouslytowardthestreet.

“Uh,traffic?”Heshakeshishead.“Ordoyoucontrolthattoo?”
Iavertmygazeandtrytothinkofwhattosay.
“It’suphere,ontheleft.Theonewiththegreengate.JustpullintothedriveandI’mgoodtogo.”
I do as he says, braking just shy of a garage door that’s the exact shade of green as the gate,

immediately killing the engine, which prompts him to say, “Oh no.” He looks at me. “No need for that.
Trustme,youarenotcomingin.”

I shrug, reaching across him, wanting to unlock his door the old-fashioned way instead of the

telekineticway,noticinghowhewinceswhenmyarmveerstooclosetohis.

“Listen,”Isay,backinmyseat.“Iknowyou’retired,andIknowyouprobablywanttogetasfar

frommeasyoupossiblycan,asquicklyasyoucan,andIcan’tsayIblameyou.Imean,ifIwereyou,I’d
feelthesameway.Butstill,ifyoucouldjustsparemeafewmoresecondsofyourtime,I’dreallylikea

chancetoexplain.”

Hemumblesunderhisbreath,gazingoutthewindowforamomentbeforeshiftingtowardmeina

waythatallowsforhisfull,undividedattention.

AndknowingIhavetomovefast,thathe’spreparedtoallowmeafewsecondsandnomore,Isay,

“Listen, it’s like this—I mean, I know it sounds crazy, and I really can’t go into all the details, but you
havetotrustmewhenIsayIhadreallygoodreasontothinkyouwereoneofthem.”

Hecloseshiseyesforamoment,browssquinchedwithpain,lookingatmewhenhesays,“Arogue.

Yeah. You’ve made your point, Ever. Made it abundantly clear, remember?” He glances between his
injuredarmsandme.

Iscrunchmynoseandrubmylipstogether,knowingthisnextpartprobablywon’tgooveranybetter,

butstillforgingaheadwhenIsay,“Yeah,well,yousee,thethingis—Ithoughtyouwereevil. Seriously.
It’s the only reason I did what I did. I mean, I saw your tattoo—and—I have to say it was pretty
convincing—well, except for the fact that it didn’t flash or blink or anything like that—but still, that,
coupledwiththefactthatAvacalled,and,well,someotherstuffIcan’texactlygetinto,butanyway,all
of that made me think that you—” I shake my head, knowing I’m not getting anywhere with this and
choosingtojustdropit,abandonitforsomethingthat’sbeennigglingatmeeversinceweleftthehospital.
“Youknow,ifyou’resomadatme,ifyouhatemesomuch,thenwhy’dyouhelpmebackthere?Why’d
youlie to those cops and take allthe blame? I mean, I’m the one whohurt you, we both know I did it,
heck,eventheyknewIdidit.Butstill,youtotallyblewyourbigchancetogetmecuffedandhauledaway
andthrownintotheslammerwhenyouliedonmybehalf.Andtobehonest,Ijustdon’tgetit.”

Heshutshiseyesagainandtiltshisheadback,hispainandfatiguesopalpableI’mabouttocallit

off, about to tell him never mind, just go inside and get some rest, when he levels those amazing green
eyesrightonmineandsays,“Listen,Ever,here’sthething—ascrazyasitsounds,I’malotlessinterested
inwhyyoudidit,thanhowyoudidit.”

Ilookathim,fingersgrippingthesteeringwheel,unabletospeak.
“HowyoutossedmelikeaFrisbeeacrossyourbackyard—”
Iswallowhard,eyesfixedstraightahead,notsayingaword.
“Andhowonemomentyouwerestandingbeforeme,handsempty,nopocketsinsight—andthenext

thing I know you’re wielding a double-edged, jewel-handled knife—that—by the way—seemed to
disappearjustafteryouattackedme—amIright?”

Itakeadeepbreathandnod.There’snouselyingnow.
“Andthenthere’sthesmallfactthatyoustartedthiscarwithoutakey—andIthinkwebothknowit’s

notthatkindofcar—thatthisparticularmodeldefinitelyrequiresone.Andlet’snotforgetaboutthefirst
daywhenIfoundyouinthestore,despitethefactthatthedoorwaslocked,nottomentionhowquickly
youfoundTheBookofShadows,whichwasalsoprotectedbyalock.So,forgetalltherest,forgetthe
apologies and explanations and all of that nonsense, what’s done is done, there’s no going back. All I
wantnowisforyoutoexplainthehow.That’sallI’mreallyinterestedin.”

I glance at him, swallowing hard, unsure how to proceed. Attempting a feeble joke when I say,

“Okay,butfirst,tellme,havethosepainmedskickedinyet?”Chasingitwiththishorriblelaughthatonly
succeedsinmakinghimmad.

“Listen, Ever, if you ever decide to get honest, you know where I live. Otherwise—” He tries to

open the door, tries for the big, bold, dramatic exit, but with both arms bandaged, it’s not as easy as it
seems.

SoIjumpfrommysidetohis,appearingbesidehimwellbeforehecanblinkandhopinghedoesn’t

viewitasathreattohismasculinitywhenIsay,“Here—allowme.”

Buthejuststaysseated,sighingandshakinghisheadashesays,“Andthenofcourse,there’sthat—”
OureyesmeetandIsuckinmybreath.
“Thewayyoumoveasquicklyandgracefullyasajunglecat.”
Istandthere,silentandstill,unsurewhatcomesnext.
“So,yougonnahelpmeornot?”heasks,raisingasinglesplicedbrow.
Inod,goingthroughthemotionsofopeninghisdoorandofferingmyarmforsupport,sensinghow

weakenedheisthemomentheleanshisweightontome.

“Canyougetthefrontdoortoo?”
“Ofcourse.”Inod,lookingathim.“Justhandoverthekeys.”
Hiseyesgrazeoverme.“Sincewhendoyouneedakey?”
I shrug, heading down the narrow, softly lighted path that leads to his door, taking in an amazing

arrayofvibrantpinkandpurplepeonieswhenIsay,“Ihadnoideayouhadsuchagreenthumb.”

“Idon’t.Well,notreally.Linaplantedeverything.Ijustmaintainit.Wegrowmostoftheherbsfor

the store right here.” He motions toward the door, obviously tired of this, tired of me, eager to just get
insideandbedonewithallthis.

SoIclosemyeyes,seeingthedooropenbeforemeuntilIhearthatunmistakableclickandwavehim

rightin.ThenIstandtherelikeanidiot,performingthisridiculouslittlehalfwave,likeIjustdroppedhim
offafterareallynicepicnic.Reluctanttomoveevenafterheshakeshisheadandmotionsmein,requiring
afirm,verbalinvitebeforeIventureanyfarther.

“Yougonnaattackmeagain?”Hisgazesailsoverme,fillingmewithawaveofnice,languidcalm.
“Onlyifyougetoutofhand.”Ishrug.
“Wasthatapun?”Hesquints,hislipscurvingeversoslightly.
Ilaugh.“Yes,andareallybadoneatthat.”
Heleansagainstthedoorjamb,lookingmeoverslowly,leisurely,takingalongdeepbreathbefore

he says, “Listen, I hate to admit this, especially to you of all people, since you’ve pretty much
emasculatedmeenoughforonelifetime,butImightneedalittlehelpgettingsetup.Themedsarekicking
inandIwasn’tmuchgoodwhenIwassoberandone-handed,soIcan’timaginehowI’llfarenow.It’ll
onlytakeaminute,twoatthemost,andthenyoucangetbacktoDamenandonwithyournight.”

Ifrown,wonderingwhyhejustsaidthat.SwitchingonthelightsandclosingthedoorbehindmeasI

follow him inside, gazing around the small cozy space, amazed to find myself inside a real, authentic
LagunaBeachcottage.Thekindwitholdbrickfireplacesandlargepicturewindows.Thekindyoudon’t
seeinthesepartsanymore.

“Cool,isn’tit?”Henods,readingmyface.“Itwasbuiltin1958.Linapickeditupcheap,alongtime

ago,beforeallthemoneyandrealityshowsrolledin.”

Iheadfortheslidingglassdoorthatleadstoanicebrickpatiothatleadstoasteepgrassyslope,a

setofstairs,andaslightlymoonlitoceanbeyond.

“Sherentsittomecheap,butmydreamistobuyitsomeday.Shesaysshe’llonlysellifIpromise

nottoturnitintoyetanotherTuscan-styleduplex.Asif.”Helaughs.

I turn away from the window and wander into his kitchen, flicking on a light and opening a few

cupboardsuntilIfindtheonecontainingasetofdrinkingglasses.Lookingaround,searchingforabottle
ofwater,onlytofindhimstandingsocloseIcanmakeouteachindividualfleckinhiseyes.

“Isn’titeasiertojustmanifestit?”hesays,voicethick,low,deep.
Igazeathim,notsurewhatI’mbotheredbymore,hisintimateproximity,thelonginginhistone,or

thewayhewasabletosneakuponme.

“I—IthoughtI’djustgetittheold-fashionedway—ifthat’sokay?Guaranteedtotastethesame,”I

mumble, the words clumsy on my lips, hoping he’s too hopped up on pain medication to see just how
muchhisnearnessisaffectingme.

Hecontinuestostandthere,gazesteady,givingnothingaway.Voicegroggyanddeepwhenhesays,

“Ever—whatareyou?”

Ifreeze,fingersgrippingtheglasssohardI’mafraiditmightbreakinmyhand.Focusingonthetiled

floor,thesmalltabletotheright,thedenjustbeyond,anywherebutathim.Thesilencehangingsothick
betweenus,IonlywanttobreakitwhenIsay,“I—Ican’ttellyou.”

“So,it’snotjustthebookthen,it’s—somethingelse.”
Myeyesmeethis,immediatelyrecognizingmyblunder,howIbasicallyjustadmittedI’mnotatall

normalwhenIcould’vejustblameditonmagickinstead.Butthetruthis,hewouldn’thaveboughtit.He
knewsomethingwasupfromthefirstdaywemet,longbeforeheeverlentmethatbook.

“Whydidn’tyoutellmeTheBookofShadowswaswrittenincode?”Isay,eyesnarrowed,putting

himbackonthedefensiveagain.

“Idid.”Hebreaksthegazeandmovesaway,annoyancestampedonhisface.
“No,youtoldmeitwaswrittenintheThebancodeandthatithadtobeintuitedtobeunderstood.

Butwhatyoufailedtomentionisthatit’sactuallyprotectedbyacode—acodethathastobecrackedin
order to see what’s truly inside. So what gives? Why didn’t you tell me about that? It’s a pretty major
detailtoleaveout,don’tyouthink?”

He leans against the tiled counter, shaking his head when he says, “Excuse me, but am I under

suspicionagain?Because,correctmeifI’mwrong,butIwasundertheimpressionthatwhenyousliced
meopen,youprettymuchdeterminedIwasoneofthegoodguys.”

Ifoldmyarmsandsquint.“No,Ideterminedyou’renotarogue.Ineversaidyouweregood.” He

looksatme,strivingforpatience,butI’mfarfromdoneyet.“Youalsofailedtomentionhowyougotthe
book—howitendedupinyourhands.”

Heshrugs,gazefixed,voicesteady,measured,whenhesays,“Itoldyou—Igotitfromafriend,a

fewyearsback.”

“Anddoesthisfriendhaveaname—likemaybeRoman,perhaps?”
Helaughs,thoughitcomesoutmorelikeagrunt.Hisannoyanceringingloudandclearwhenhesays,

“Oh,Isee,you’restillconvincedI’mpartofhistribe.Well,excusemeforsayingso,Ever,butIthought
wewerethroughwithallthat?”

Ifoldmyarmsacrossmychest,allowingtheglasstodanglefrommyfingers.“Listen,Jude,I’dlike

to trust you, really I would. But the other night when—” I pause, realizing I can’t really continue that
thread.“Well,anyway,Romansaidsomethingaboutthebookoncebelongingtohim,andIreallyneedto
knowifthat’swhereyougotit—ifhesomehowsoldittoyou?”

He reaches toward me, the few fingers that still actually work snatching the glass right out of my

grasp.“MyonlyconnectiontoRomanisthroughyou.Idon’tknowwhatelsetotellyou,Ever.”

Isquint,scrutinizinghisaura,hisenergy,hisbodylanguage,addingitallupasheheadsforthesink,

andcomingtotheconclusionthathereallyistellingthetruth,nothidingathing.

“Tap?”Iask,seeinghimglanceoverhisshoulderatme.“It’sbeenawhilesinceIsawsomeonedo

that.NotsinceIleftOregon.”

“I’masimpleguy,whatcanIsay?”Hetakesaheartyswig,drainingitcompletelybeforeturningto

fillitagain.

“Soseriously,youdidn’tknowaboutthebook?”Ifollowbehind,watchingasheheadsforanold

browncouchwherehepromptlyplopshimselfdown.

“Tobehonest,prettymucheverythingyou’vesaidsinceIranintoyouhasbeenamystery.Noneofit

makesanysense.Normally,I’djustgiveyouthebenefitofthedoubtandblamethemeds,butIseemto
rememberyoutalkingcrazylongbeforeitresultedinthat.”

Ifrown,droppingontothechairjustoppositehimandproppingmyfeetuponanelaboratelycarved

antiquedoorheusesasacoffeetable.“I’m—IwishIcouldexplainit—IfeellikeIoweyouthatmuch.
ButIcan’t.It’s—it’stoocomplicated.Stuffthatinvolves—”

“RomanandDamen?”
Isquint,wonderingwhyhejustsaidthat.
“Justaguess.”Heshrugs.“Butfromthelookonyourface,asuccessfulone.”
Ipressmylipstogetherandgazearoundtheroom,takingintallstacksofbooks,anoldstereo,some

interestingart,butnoTV.NeitherconfirmingnordenyinghisstatementwhenIsay,“Ihavethesepowers.
Stuffthatgoeswaybeyondthepsychicstuffyoualreadyknowabout.Icanmakethingsmove—”

“Telekinesis.”Henods,eyesclosednow.
“Icanmakethingsappear.”
“Manifestation—but in your case—instant.” He opens one eye to peer at me. “Which makes me

wonder—whythebook?You’vegottheworldatyourfeet.You’rebeautiful,smart,blessedwithallkinds
ofpowersatyourdisposal,andI’mbettingyourboyfriend’shidingsomegiftsofhisown...”

Ilookathim.That’sthethirdtimehe’smentionedhim,anditbugsmejustasmuchasitdidthefirst

time around. “What’s your deal with Damen?” I ask, wondering if he’s on to us, if he somehow senses
somethingaboutthelongandconvolutedpastthethreeofusshare.

Heshifts,swinginghislegsupontothecushionsandproppinghisheadagainstapillow.“WhatcanI

say? I don’t like him. There’s just—something about him. Can’t really put my finger on it.” Turning his
headtolookatmewhenheadds,“Thatwasn’tapun,andyoudidask.Andifthere’sanythingelseyou
wannaknow,now’syourchance.Thesemedsarekickinginbigtime,startinganunbelievable buzz, so
youmightwanttocatchmebeforeIfadeout,whileI’mstillableandwillingtotalkfastandloose.”

Ishakemyhead,havingalreadygottenalltheanswersIneededwhenInickedhimonthesidewalka

fewhoursbefore.Butnow,maybeit’stimeIshareafewtruthsofmyown—oratleastleadhimtoward
thetruthandseeifhedrinks.

“Youknow,there’sareasonwhyyouandDamendon’tcareforeachother—”Iventure,bitingdown

onmylip,notyetdecidedjusthowfarI’lltakeit.

“Ah—so it’s mutual.” His gaze meets mine, holding it for so long, I’m the first to break away.

Studyingthethreadwornrugatmyfeet,thescarredwoodtablebeforeme,thelargecitrinegeodepropped
up in the corner, wondering why on earth I started this, and just about to speak when he says, “No
worries.”Hestrugglestokicktheblanketoverhisfeetbutdoesn’tquitemakeit.“Noneedtoexplain,no
need to—worry. It’s just your everyday, garden-variety guy thing. You know, the kind of primal
competitionthattakesplacewheneverthere’soneabsolutelyamazinggirlandtwoguyswhodesperately
wanther.Andsinceonlyoneofuscanwin—excuseme—sinceonlyoneofushaswon—I’lljustwander
backtomycave,bangmyclubagainstthewallafewtimes,andlickmywoundswherenoonecansee.”
Hecloseshiseyes,voiceloweredwhenheadds,“Trustme,Ever,Iknowwhentocryuncle.Iknowwhen
to bow out, so don’t you worry. There’s a reason I’m named after the patron saint of lost causes—I’ve
doneitmanytimesbefore,and...I...”

His words fade as his chin sinks to his chest, so I get up from my chair and move toward him,

grabbingtheplush,tangledthrowathisfeetandcarefullyarrangingitsoitcovershimcompletely.“Get
somesleep,”Iwhisper.“I’llfillyourprescriptiontomorrow,sonoworriesthere.Youjuststayhereand
rest.”Knowinghe’sdriftingoff,movingontosomeotherplace,butwantingtoassurehimnonetheless.

Tuckingtheblanketunderhisfeetwhenhesays,“Hey,Ever—youneveranswered—aboutthebook.

Why’dyouwantthatbookwhenyoualreadyhaveeverythingyoucouldeverpossiblywant?”

I freeze, gazing upon the guy I’ve known for so many centuries, so many lives, who’s managed to

showupyetagain.Knowingtheremustbeareason,thatfromeverythingI’veseenandexperiencedsofar,
theuniverseisn’tnearlyasrandomasitseems.Butthethingis,Idon’tknowthereason.Infact,Idon’t
knowmuchofanythinganymore.AllIknowistheycouldn’tbemoredifferent.Jude’scalmingpresenceis
the exact opposite of Damen’s sultry mix of tingle and heat. Like the yang to his yin. Opposites to the
purestdegree.

I finish tucking him in, waiting until he’s drifted off again before I head for the door, saying,

“BecauseIdon’thaveeverythingIwant.Notevenclose.”

ChapterSeven

“I knew there was something up with you guys all along. Especially you.” She points at Damen.

“Sorry,butnoone’sthatperfect.”

Damensmiles,openingthedoorwideandmotioningusinside,hisdeepdarkgazeholdingminelike

alover’sembrace,showeringmewithadelugeoftelepathicredtulipsmeanttoprovidethecourageand
strengthI’mobviouslygonnaneed.

“And just so you know, I saw that,” Haven says, heavily ringed fingers clutching her leather-clad

hips,eyesdartingbetweenus,beforeshakingherheadandchargingintothefoyer.

Damen looks at me, brows raised, but I just shrug. Haven’s gifts are only just starting to surface.

Mindreadingisjustthebeginning.

“Wow,Ican’tbelieveyoulivelikethis!”Shetwirlsaroundandaroundasshetakesitallin—the

elaboratechandelierhangingfromthetall,domedceiling,theplushPersianrugatherfeet—twopriceless
antiquesdatingbackseveralcenturiesthatwerealmostlostforgoodwhenDamenwentthroughwhatI
now refer to as his “monk phase”—back when he was sure his extravagant, vain, narcissistic past was
directlytoblameforallthetroublesweface.Determinedtoridhimselfofallworldlygoods,untilthe
twinscametostayandthefor

SALE

sign came down, wanting to provide them with all the extra comforts and space that he could. “You
could throw the most awesome parties just right here in the entry!” She laughs. “Is this part of being
immortal?Livinginfancydigslikethis?Becauseifso,signmeup!”

“Damen’sbeenatitawhile—”Isay,unsurehowtoexplainhismultimillion-dollarmanse,sinceI’ve

yettogettothepartabouttheancientartofinstantmanifestation,alongwithpickingalltherightponiesat
thetrack—andnotsurethatIwill.

“Well,howlonghasRomanbeenatit,cuzhisplaceisniceandall,butit’snothinglikethis.”
DamenandIlookateachother,unabletocommunicatewithourusualtelepathynowthatweknow

shecanhear,butstillmutuallydecidingtoignorethequestion.Determinedtokeepthedetailsasvagueas
wecan,foraslongaswecan.Delayingtheinevitabledaywhenshediscoverstherealtruthbehindallof
this,nottomentionwhatreallyhappenedtohergoodfriendDrina.

Wefollowherthroughthekitchenandintotheden,onlytofindthetwinsploppedoneitherendofthe

couch. Each of them reading their very own copy of the same book, with Rayne munching on a bar of
chocolate,whileRomydipsintoabig,butterybowlofpopcorn.

“So, are you guys immortal too?” she asks, causing Romy and Rayne to look up, Rayne with her

usualscowl,whileRomyjustshakesherheadandreturnstowheresheleftoff.

“No,they’re—um—”IglanceatDamen,eyespleadingforhelp.Havingnoideahowtoexplainthe

factthatwhilethey’renottechnicallyimmortal,theyhavebeenhangingoutinanalternatedimensionfor
thelastthreehundredyears,andnow,thankstome,can’tseemtoreturn.

“They’re family.” Damen nods, shooting me a look that tells me to just play along and follow his

lead.

Havenstandsinthemiddleoftheroom,browraised,facesquinched,obviouslynotbuyingaword

of it. “So, you’re trying to tell me you’ve kept in touch with your family for—” She narrows her gaze,
lookinghimover,tryingtodeterminejusthowoldheis,thenshruggingindefeatwhenshesays,“Anyway,
thatmustmakeforsomeveryinterestingreunions,tosaytheleast.”

IglanceatDamen,seeinghe’sfullypreparedtoletthatonego,butstillhopingtosaveit,Ijumpin

andsay,“Whathemeansis,they’relikefamily.They’re—”

“Oh,please!”Raynetossesherbookontothetableandglares,atme,atHaven,butnotDamen,of

course.“We’renotfamily,andwe’renotimmortal,okay?We’rewitches.RefugeesfromtheSalemWitch
Trials.Anddon’taskanymorequestionsbecausewewon’tanswerthem.That’smorethanyouneedto
knowanyway.”

Havenlooksatus,eyeswiderthanIeverwould’vethoughtpossible,gawpingatallfourofusfreaks

asshesays,“Jeez.Imean,canthisgetanyweirder?”

Ishrug,exchangingalookwithRayne,makingitclearsheshould’vekeptthatoneunderwraps,and

watchingasHavensettlesontoanoverstuffedchair,eagerlyglancingbetweenusasthoughanticipating
somekindofconfidentialpasswordreveal,agrandindoctrination,asecretinitiationofsomesort,andnot
eventryingtohideherdisappointmentwhenDamenheadsintothekitchen,onlytoemergeamomentlater
withasmallboxfullofelixirhepromptlyhandstoher.

Shepeersintothebox,tappingthelidofeachbottlewiththetipofherblack-paintednail,gazingat

usinconfusionwhenshesays,“That’sit?Seven?Onlyaone-weeksupply?Imean,you’renotserious,
areyou?HowamIsupposedtosurviveonjustthis?YoutryingtokillmebeforeIevenhaveachanceto
getstarted?”

“Duh,you’reimmortal—theycan’tkillyou.”Rayneshakesherheadandrollshereyes.
“Duh,yestheycan.That’swhyEvermakesmewearthis.”Havensnakesheramuletoutfromunder

herblacklacetopandwavesitinfrontofRayne’sface.

But Rayne just groans, crossing her skinny, pale arms across her sunken chest when she says,

“Please,Iknowallaboutthat.Takeitoff,getapunchtothewrongchakraandyou’retoast.Leaveiton
andyoulivehappilyeverafterandafterandafter.It’snotrocketscience,youknow.”

“Jeez,isshealwaysthisgrouchy?”Havenasks,laughingandshakingherhead.
AndjustasIstarttosayyes,gladtohaveanallyforachangeifnothingelse,Iwatchasshegetsup

fromherchairandplopsdownbesideRayne,mussingherhairandticklingherfeetinawaythatmakes
theminstantbestfriends.Andjustlikethat,I’mbacktobeingtheoutcastagain.

“Youdon’tneedtodrinkiteveryday,”Damensays,determinedtogetthisbackontrack.“Infact,

youcouldlastthenexthundredandfiftyyearswithoutsomuchasasinglesip,perhapsevenlonger,who
knows?”

“Well,ifthat’sthecase,thenwhydoyousipitlikeyourlifedependsonit?”Havenasks,removing

Rayne’sfeetfromherlapasshetakesusbothin.

Damenshrugs.“Iguessbecauseitkindofdoesatthispoint.I’vebeenaroundawhile,youknow.A

longwhile.”

“Howlong?”Havenleansforward,pushingherplatinum-streakedbangsoffherfaceandgazingat

himwithtwoheavilymade-upeyes.

“Long.Anyway—thepointis—”
“Wait—you’rejoking,right?Imean,you’reseriouslynotgonnatellmeyourrealage?Whatareyou

—like one of those thirty-somethings who pile up the twenty-ninth birthdays well into their eighties? I
mean,sorry,Damen,buthowvainareyou?”Shelaughsandshakesherhead.“Trustme,whenI’mold,I
plantoshoutitfromtherooftops.Ican’twait’tilI’maporcelain-skinnedonehundredandeighty-two.”

“It’snotvanity,it’s—practicality,” Damen snaps, and when I look at him, I realize he’s flustered,

butprobablyonlybecauseitisalittlebitvanity,hejustdoesn’twanttoadmitit.Asmuchashe’striedto
ridhimselfofallthefancyclothes,hair-groomingproducts,andhandmadeItalianleatherboots,ahintof
vanityremains.“Besides,youcan’tflauntit,youcan’ttellanyone.IthoughtyouandEvertalkedabout
that?”

“Wedid,”HavenandIbothsay,ourvoicesblendingasone.
“So,thereshouldbenoquestion.Youjuststicktoyournormalcupcake-eatingroutine,keepingyour

behaviorasnormalaspossible,carefulnottodrawany—”

“Unnecessaryattentiontomyself.”Havenshakesherheadandrollshereyesinthemostexaggerated

way. “Trust me, Ever gave me the whole lowdown, warned me of the dark side, the monster under the
bed,theoneinthecloset,nottomentiontheboogeymanwholivesunderthestairs,andIhatetobreakit
to you, but I’m not really interested in any of that. I’ve been ordinary my whole entire life. Ignored,
overlooked, practically blending into the walls and treated like I was invisible no matter how crazy I
triedtoactanddress,andI’mtellingyou,thatkindofanonymityisoverrated.I’mtotallyandcompletely
overit.Soifnow’smychancetoreallykickit—toreallystandoutandbeseenforachange—well,I’m
notabouttoholdback.IplantoembraceitwithallthatI’vegot!So,withthatinmind,I’mthinkingyou
candoalittlebetterthanthis.”Shetapsthesideofthebox.“Comeon,humorme,handoverthejuicesoI
cangiveeveryonetheshockofalifetimewhenwestartsenioryear.”

Damenlooksatme,alarmed,speechless—shootingmealookthatsays:She’syourcreation—your

Frankenstein—dosomething!

SoIclearmythroatandturntoher,legscrossed,handsclasped,rearrangingmyfaceintoapleasant

expressiondespitethefactthatI’meverybitasfreakedasheis.“Haven—please,”Isay,carefultokeep
myvoicesteadyandlow.“Wetalkedaboutthis—we—”

Butnotgettingveryfarbeforeshecutsin.“Youdrinkitallthetime—sowhycan’tI?”Shedrumsher

fingersagainsttheboxandnarrowshergaze.

I pause, unsure how to explain that the juice enhances my powers, powers I prefer she not have,

fumblingaroundforjusttherightwordswhenIsay,“Whileitmayappearthatway,thethingis—Idon’t
reallyneedit—notlikeDamendoesanyway.Ijustsortofdrinkitbecause—well—becauseI’musedto
it.Andeventhoughitdoesn’ttasteallthatgreat—Ikindoflikeit.Buttrustme,it’sreallynotnecessaryto
drinkiteveryday—noteveneveryweek—oreveryyear,forthatmatter.LikeDamensaid,youcangoa
hundredyears,maybetwohundred,withoutasinglesip.”Inod,hopingshe’llbuyit,notwantingherto
knowaboutthesurgeinpowerandspeedandmagicalabilitiesthatregularconsumptioncanbring.That
wouldonlymakeherwantitmore.

“Fine.”Shenods.“GuessI’lljusthavetogetitfromRoman,then.I’msurehe’dbehappytogiveit

tome.”

Iswallowhard,notsayingaword,wellawarethatshe’schallengingme.WatchingasLunajumps

ontoherlapandHavenstartstopether.

“Hey there, kitty—weren’t you supposed to be mine? Is that why you’re here now? Because you

senseyourtrueowner?”Sheliftsheruphighandnuzzlesherchin,laughingwhenRomyjumpsupfrom
herendofthecouchandsnatchesheraway.“Relax.”Havenlaughs.“It’snotlikeI’mgonnastealheror
anything.”

“Youcan’tstealher.”Romyglares,liftingLunaontohershoulder,herfavoriteplacetoperch.“You

can’townhereither.Petsaren’tpossessions,they’renotaccessoriesyoudiscardwhenyoudecideyouno
longerwantthem.They’relivingcreaturesthatshareourlives.”Shelooksathersister,signalingforher
tofollowasshestormsoutoftheroom.

“Jeez—testy!”Havenglancesoverhershoulder,watchingthemleave.
ButI’mnotabouttoletherbrushthatoff,she’stheonewhoputitoutthere,nowI’mjustfollowing

up.“Speakingof—howisRoman?”Iask,tryingtocomeoffasconversational,onlyvaguelyinterested,
hopingnooneelsenoticedthewaymyvoicejusttrembledwhenhisnameleftmylips.

Sheshrugs,sensingexactlywhereI’mgoingwiththiswhenshesays,“Fine.He’sjustfine,thanksfor

asking.ButI’vegotnothingtoreport.Oratleastnothingthatwouldinterestyou.”Sheglancesbetween
Damen and me, her lips curling up at the corners as though it’s all a big joke, a game she hasn’t fully
committed to playing, despite the assurance she gave. Switching her focus to her nails when she says,
“Jeez, do your nails grow this fast too? I mean, I just cut them this morning and check it out, they’re
alreadylongagain!”Sheholdsherhandsupsowecansee.“Andmyhair—Iswearmybangshavegrown
afullhalfinchinjustafewdays!”

Damen and I exchange a quick glance, both of us thinking the same thing: All of this on just one

bottleofelixir?AndknowingI’venochoicebuttotellher,andhopingIcanpullitoffconvincingly,I
say,“Listen—aboutRoman—”

Shedropsherhandsinherlap,cradlingtheboxasshelooksatme.
“I’ve been thinking—” I pause, aware of Damen’s gaze, deep, intense, boring right into mine,

wonderingwhereI’mheadedwiththis,sinceIcertainlyhaven’tdiscusseditwithhim.Butthetruthis,it’s
aconclusionI’veonlyjustcometomyself—aresultofallthecreepythingsthathavehappenedinthepast
twenty-fourhours.“Ithinkyouneedtoavoidhimatallcosts,”Isay,eyeinghercarefully.“Seriously.If
it’s money you need, I can totally float you until you find another job, but I don’t think you should be
workingthere.It’snot—safe.AndeventhoughIknowyoudon’tbelieveme,eventhoughyouthinkI’ve
gotitallwrong,thethingis,Idon’t.Damenwastheretoo,hecantellyou.”IglanceatDamen,seeinghim
nodinagreement,butHavenremainsunaffected,herfacesoplacidit’slikeshehasn’tevenheard.“Ican’t
expressitenough,”Iurge.“Seriously.He’sdangerous.Acompleteandtotalmenace.Nottomentionhe’s
—” Evil and awful, and devastatingly, alluringly irresistible—his voice in my head, his face in my
dreams—alwaysthere,ever-present—andnomatterhowhardItry,Ican’tseemtoshakehim—can’t
stop thinking about him—can’t stop wanting him—can’t stop dreaming about him—“And—um—
anyway,I’dhatetoseeyougethurt.”Iswallowhard,mybodysorampedupwithjustthethoughtofhim,
withthatstrange,foreignpulsestirringinsideme,Icomethisclosetoblowingmycover.

But when she looks at me, her brow lifted as though she heard the words in my head, sees what I

reallyamupto,Ipanic.Privatelyandquietlypanic.UntilIrememberthatmyshieldisinplace.Andno
matterhowpowerfulshemaybe,ifDamencouldn’thearme,thenneithercouldshe.

“Listen,Ever,it’sbeencovered,andnowyou’rejustbeingredundant.Iheardyouthefirsttime,just

like I heard you this time. And if you’ll remember, we agreed to disagree. Besides, how you gonna get
what you want if I don’t cozy up to him?” She glances between us, eyes narrowed, catlike. “Trust me,
Roman’shardlyathreat,atleastnottome.He’ssoincrediblysweet,andkind,andloving—he’snothing
at all like you think. So if you two want to be together”—she wags her finger between Damen and me
—“thenyou’llprobablywanttostayonmygoodside.AsfarasIcantell,I’mprettymuchyouronlyshot

atthispoint—no?”

Damen steps forward, his eyes sparking, angry, voice low and menacing when he says, “It’s a

dangerousgamethatyou’replaying.AndwhileIrealizeyou’reexcitedaboutyourprospects,thrilledwith
thisnewpowerthat’sraginginsideyou,it’salltooeasytogetinoveryourhead.Iknow,becauseIwas
once like you. In fact, I was the first. And even though it was a very long time ago, I remember it like
yesterday.IalsorememberthelonglistofmistakesImade,theregretsIaccumulatedwhenIletmyhunger
for power override my common sense and human decency. Don’t be like me, Haven. Don’t make that
mistake. And don’t you even consider threatening either Ever or me in any way. We have plenty of
options,plentyofmeans,andwedon’tneedyouto—”

“Enoughalready!”Havenshakesherheadashereyesdartbetweenus.“I’msickofyoubothtalking

downtomeallthetime.DidyoueverstoptothinkthatmaybeIcanteachyouguysathingortwoabout
howtouseallthispower?”Sherollshereyesandscowls,answeringherownquestionwhenshesays,
“Ofcoursenot!It’sjust,‘Dothis,Haven,dothat,Haven,we’rerationingyourelixirbecausewedon’t
trustyou,Haven.’Imean,comeon.Ifyourefusetotrustme,thenwhyamIsupposedtotrustyou?”

“It’s not you we don’t trust,” I say, eager to defuse this, calm things down before it gets any more

heated. “It’s Roman. I know you don’t want to see it, but he’s using you. You’re just a pawn in this
twistedlittlegamethatheplays.Heseesallyourweaknessesandhe’susingthemtopullyourstringslike
apuppet.”

“Andwhatweaknessesarethose?”Shedrumsherfingersagainsttheboxandpressesherlipsintoa

thin,grimline.

Butbeforethiscangoanyfurther,escalateintosomethingwe’llallsurelyregret,Damenholdsupa

handandjumpsin.“We’renottryingtopickafightwithyou,Haven.We’retryingtoprotectyou.It’sfor
yourowngood.”

“Because I need protecting? Because I’m too dumb to figure stuff out for myself?” Her gaze darts

between us, and when Damen sighs in frustration, her eyes grow cold. Then she nods, grips the box
tighter, and stands. “I wish I could believe you, but the thing is, I just can’t. Because you’re the one
holding something back, Ever—I can feel it. And even though I have no idea what it is, one thing’s
pathetically clear—you’re jealous.” Her lip curls when she adds, “Yep, believe it or not, perfect Ever
Bloomisjealousofme—littleHavenTurner.”Sheshakesherhead.“How’sthatforachangeofevents?”

Istiffenbutcontinuetostandthere,notsayingaword.
“You’reusedtobeingtopdogaroundhere.Thesmartest,theprettiest,themostperfectateverything,

withthemostperfect,smartest,sexiestboyfriend.”ShesmilesatDamen,thenshrugsandlaughswhenhe
failstoreturnhersmile.“AndnowthatI’mimmortallikeyou,it’sjustamatteroftimeuntilIcatchup—
untilI’mperfecttoo.Andthefactis,youcan’tstandit.Can’tstandthethoughtofit.Butthefunnypart,the
ironicpartis,intheend,youhaveonlyyourselftoblame,sinceyou’retheonewhomademethisway.
Andeventhoughyouclaimyou’dmakethesamedecisionalloveragain,Ican’thelpbutthinkyouliked
me better before. Back when I was a pathetic, little, attention-starved wannabe—the loser who ate too
manycupcakesandmadeupstuffatanonymousmeetings.”Sheshrugs,shouldersrisingandfallingwith
suchconfidence,sucharrogance,it’sclearshe’snolongerthatgirl.“Don’tbotherdenyingit,Iknowthose
aretheweaknessesyouwerereferringto.It’sprettyobvioushowsuperioryou’vealwaysfelttoMiles
andme.Likeyouweredeigningtohangwithusuntilsomethingbettercameyourway—”

“That’snottrue—you’remybestfriends—my—”
“Please.” She rolls her eyes, clucking her tongue against her cheek in the same way Roman does.

“Sparemeyourheartfeltdeclarations.ThemomenttheItalianstallioncamealong”—shenodsatDamen
—“weprettymuchonlysawyouatlunch,andsometimesnoteventhen,sincetheperfectlittlecouplewas

toobusywiththeirperfectlittlelives,andtheirperfectlittlelove,tohangwithsuchunperfectdorkslike
us. We were just the losers you kept on standby—just in case you might need us someday. But now it
lookslikeyou’reinforalongandlonelysummercuzMilesisheadedforFlorence,andImadesomenew
friendswhoaren’ttheslightestbitintimidatedbythenewme.”

“Haven—thisiscrazy!Howcanyouevensaythesethings?”Iask,asmyeyesrakeoverher,taking

herin.Eventhoughshe’sjustasteenyasever,eventhoughshehasn’tgrowneventheslightestbit,it’slike
herdiminutivestatureissomehowmorepronounced—moretoned,moresinewy,likeshe’satinyblack
pantherinblackleatherleggings,lacyblackshirt,andtallspikyblackboots.Andthoughshe’sgottenmad
atmebefore,thistimeisdifferent—she’sdifferent.Nowshe’sdangerous,andknowsit,andlikesitthat
way.

“HowcanIsayit?”shemocks,eyesnarrowedintoslits.“Becauseit’strue,that’show.”Shedumps

theboxintoDamen’sarms,assuminghe’llcatchitassheheadsforthedoor,glancingoverhershoulderto
say,“Youcankeepyourelixir.I’vegotmyownsource.Andtrustme,he’llbemorethanhappytoteach
meallthethingsthatyouwon’t.”

ChapterEight

Damenturnstowardme,thewordtroublecoursingfromhismindtomine.
ButIjuststandthere,sostunnedIhavenoideawheretotakeitfromhere.
“Iknewshe’dbeaproblem.”Heshakeshisheadanddropsontothecouch.“She’stoofragile,too

volatile,shewon’tbeabletohandleanyofthis.She’llbeconsumedwithpowerbeforelong,justwait.”

“Wait?”Iperchonthearmrestbesidehim.“Areyouserious?Waitforwhat?Youthinkit’sactually

gonnagetworsethanwhatwejustsaw?”

Henods,makingagreatefforttowithholdtheItoldyousogaze.Butit’snotlikeitmatters.Weboth

knowI’mtheoneresponsibleforthismess.

Isigh,slidingoffthearmrestandtopplingontohim.KnowingIhavetodosomething—takecontrol

ofthissituationbeforeitgetsanyworse—buthavingnoideawhatthatsomethingis.EverydecisionI’ve
madeuptothispointhasonlymadeeverythingworse.AndI’mjustsotired—sodrained—allIwantto
doistakeanicelongpeacefulnapwhereRomancan’tentermydreams.

Roman.
Thenamereverberatingfrommymindtohis,andwhenhelooksatme,Iknowit’stoolate—Iknow

thathesensedit.

“Why’dyouchangeyourmind?”Hestudiesmeclosely,seekingthetruthbehindthelookinmyeyes,

thewordsonmytongue.“Why’dyoutellhertoavoidhim?”

“Becauseyouwereright,”Imumble,hatingthelieI’mabouttotell.“Itwasaselfishthingtodo—to

putherinthatkindofdangerjustsowecouldbenefit—”Ishakemyhead,allowingmyhairtofallonto
myfaceinawaythatobscuresit.

Becausethetruthis,I’mworriedIdidn’tdoitforher.
I’mworriedItriedtokeepherfromRoman,sothere’dbemoreroomforme.
Iremainlikethat,facehiddenasIstruggletopullmyselftogether,summonupsomesmallglimmer

oftheoldme.Finallyliftingmyheadonlytofindhisbrowcreasedwithworry,ashishandsqueezesmy
knee.

“Hey,takeiteasy,”hesays,voicesoftandlow.“Don’tbesohardonyourself.So,we’veentereda

bitofaglitch,we’llgetthroughit.Westillhaveeachother,right?That’sallthatmattersinthebigscheme
ofthings.Asforeverythingelse—we’llfindaway—Ipromisewewill.”

“Dowe?”Ilookathim,myeyesgoingwidewhenIrealizewhatIjustsaid,havingmeanttosaywill

we—meanttoquestionthepartaboutfindingawayandnotthepartaboutushavingeachother.

Helooksatme,clearlydisturbedbymywords.“Ithoughtthatwasagiven.AmIwrong?”

Iswallowhardandreachforhishand,watchingastheslimveilofenergydancesbetweenhispalm

andmine,holdingbackthewordsuntilIcantrustmyvoiceagain.“You’renotwrong,”Iwhisper.“You’re
thebestthinginmylife—theonlythingthattrulymatters.”RepeatingthewordsthatIknowforsuretobe
true,justwishingIcouldfeeltheminthesamewaythatIusedto.

But Damen’s not buying it, he knows me too well—having witnessed a million different mood

swings,agazilliondifferentvoiceinflectionsandavoidancetechniquesoverthelastfourhundredyears
—andthat’sjustcountingmine.

“Ever,issomethingwrong?You’vebeenactingstrangeeversince—”
Ilookathim,myvoicesharp,edgy,cuttinginwhenIsay,“EversinceImadeyoudrinktheelixirthat

turnedourtouchlethal?”

Heshakeshishead.
“EversinceIturnedHavenintoanimmortal?”
He shakes his head again, this time pressing his finger to my lips, quieting me when he says, “I

wasn’t referring to any of those things. You made the best decisions you could under the circumstances
you found yourself in. I’ve no right to fault you for that. What I was going to say is you’ve been acting
strangeeversinceyoustarteddelvingintomagick.Youseempreoccupied,distracted,likeyou’renever
fullypresentanymore.AndI’mworriedaboutyou,wonderingifyou’vegotteninoveryourhead,andif
so,howImighthelp.”

I look into his eyes, and there’s so much hope and tenderness there that I can’t bring myself to

confesswhatI’vebeenfeelingforRoman.Thethoughtaloneistoogruesome.“Iadmit,Igotintoalittle
bind.AndwhileI’drathernotgointoallthedetails,it’sbetternow.RomyandRayneshowedmehowto
undoit,andit’sall—good.Youjusthavetotrustme.”

Helooksatme,hisconcerndeepening,butstillhejustnodsandsays,“Ifyoutellmetotrustyou,

thenI’lltrustyou.Butletmeknowifthere’sanythingIcando.”

I reach toward him—my boyfriend—my soul mate—my partner for life. Knowing this is how it’s

meanttobe—thateverythingI’mgoingthroughnowisjustarudeinterruption—atechnicaldifficulty—a
brief blip on the screen of our infinite lives. Aware of that horrible insistent hum, thrumming in the
background,threateningtotakeoveragain,Ilookhimrightintheeyesandsay,“Whatdoyousayweget
outofhere?”

He looks at me, face softening, eyes lightening, always game for a good adventure. “Any place in

particular?”heasks,havingnoideawhatIhaveinmindbutclearlycomplicitinhisgaze.

Inod,squeezinghishandandquietlyurginghimtoclosehiseyes,asIwhisper,“Followme.”

ChapterNine

Thesecondweland,thetwoofustopplingsidebysideonthegrass,Ifeelbetter.Likeamillion,

trillion,gazilliontimesbetter.Jumpingtomyfeetandskippingthroughthefield,freedfromthathorrible
trespassing energy—that strange foreign pulse and the thoughts of Roman it brings. All of it reduced to
nothing more than a vague and distant memory, as the buoyant grass springs under my feet, and the
perfumedflowersshiverbeneaththetipsofmyfingers.Glancingovermyshoulder,beckoningforDamen
tojoinme,asagenuinegrinlightsupmyfaceforthefirsttimeindays.

Iamregenerated,renewed,abletobeginalloveragain.
Hecomestowardme,stoppingjustshyofmyreachashecloseshiseyesandinstantlytransformsthe

vast fragrant fields of Summerland into an exact replica of the Château de Versailles. Placing us in the
middleofahallsograndandopulentittakesmybreathaway.

Thefloorsaremadeofthesmoothestpolishedparquet,whilethecream-coloredwallsgleamwitha

liberal use of gold leaf. And the ceilings—those insanely high, elaborately frescoed ceilings—are
punctuatedbyasuccessionofglisteningchandeliers,theirfinelycutcrystalsshiningandglintingfromthe
flames of burning candles, filling the room with a kaleidoscope of soft, glowing light. And just when I
thinkitcan’tpossiblygetanybetter,themajesticsoundsofasymphonybeginandDamenbowsbeforeme
andoffershishand.

Ilowermygaze,bendingintoabriskcurtsey,takingtheopportunitytoglancedownatmydress—its

bodicetightandlow,spillingintosoftloosefoldsoftheshiniestbluesilkthatswirlsallthewaytothe
floor. Lifting my gaze to find him retrieving a slim velvet box from his coat, and gasping in excitement
when he opens it to reveal an exquisite sapphire-and-diamond-encrusted necklace he clasps around my
neck.

Iturn,glancingintothelonglineofmirrorsthatpunctuateeachsideofthehall,gazinguponthetwo

ofustogether,heinhisbreeches,blazer,andboots,meinmyopulentfinery,hairtwistedandcurledinto
theworld’smostcomplicatedupdo—andIknowexactlywhathe’sdoing—exactlywhathe’supto—he’s
givingmethehappilyeverafterDrinastolefromme.

Igazearoundtheballroominawe,hardlybelievingIcould’vehadthis,could’vebeenpartofthis

world—hisworld.IfmyCinderellaendinghadn’tbeenrippedrightoutfromunderme,robbingmeofmy
chancetoeventrytheglassslipper.

IfI’donlybeenallowedtolive,hewould’vegivenmetheelixirandinstantlytransformedmefrom

thelowlyFrenchservantnamedEvalineintothis—thisradiantbeingstaringbackfromthemirror.Anda
hundredandsome-oddyearslater,wecould’vedancedheretogether,sharedthisbeautifulnight,dressed

inourfinestandglintingwithjewels,rightalongsideMarieAntoinetteandLouisXVI.

But that didn’t happen. Instead, Drina killed me, forcing Damen and me to continue our search for

eachother,againandagain.

Igazeathim,blinkingbackthetearsasIplacemyhandonhisshoulderandhecupshisarmsnugly

around my waist, twirling me across the dance floor, our feet moving expertly, my skirts swirling in a
dizzying haze of blue. So overcome by the beauty he’s created, replicated just for me, I press tightly
againsthim,lipsathisearwhenIaskifthereareanymoreroomstosee.

AndbeforeIknowit,I’mwhiskeddownaconfusingmazeofhalls,tothefinest,grandestbedroom

I’veeverseen.

“Now,granted”—hesmiles,pausinginthedoorwayasItrynottogawkasItakeitallin—“thisisn’t

theRoyalBedChamber—MarieAntoinetteandIwereneverthatclose.Thoughthisisanexactreplicaof
theroomthatIstayedinonmynumerousvisits—sotellme,whatdoyouthink?”

I make my way across the large woven rug, taking in the silk-covered chairs, the abundance of

candles,theliberaluseofcrystalandgold,makingarunningleapontotheplush,richlydraped,canopied
bedandpattingthespacejustbesidemeasthoughIdon’thaveacareintheworld.

BecauseIdon’t.
I’minSummerlandnow.
Romancan’treachme.
“So,whatdoyouthink?”Heleansoverme,gazesweepingmyface.
I reach up, fingers tracing his high cheekbones, the sharp line of his jaw, when I say, “What do I

think?”Ishakemyheadandlaugh,thesoundlight,joyous,thewayitusedtobe.“Ithinkyou’rethemost
amazingboyfriendinthewholeentireworld.No,Itakethatback—”

Helooksatme,feignedapprehensioninhisgaze.
“Ithinkyou’rethemostamazingboyfriendontheplanet—intheuniverse!”Ismile.“Seriously,who

elsegetsadatelikethis?”

“Areyousureyoulikeit?”heasks,realconcernmovingin.
Iliftmyarms,encirclingthemaroundhisneckasIpullhimdowntome.Awareoftheenergyveil

thathoversbetweenhislipsandmine—allowingforwhatI’mstartingtothinkofasournow-standard,
almostkiss.ButstillhappytotakewhatIcanget.

“Theseweresuchheadytimes,”hesays,pullingawayandproppinghisheadonhishandtobetter

seeme.“Ijustwantedyoutoexperienceit,getatasteforwhatitwaslike,whatIwaslike.I’msosorry
you missed it, Ever, we would’ve had such fun. You would’ve been the belle of the ball—the most
beautiful one”—he squints—“no—on second thought, Marie might not have liked that.” He shakes his
headandlaughs.

“Why?”Myfingersplayattherufflescoveringthefrontofhisshirt,sneakingtheirwaybetweenthe

buttonstotheexpanseofwarmchestbeneath.“Didshehavedesignsonyou—astheysay?Andwasthis
beforeorafterCountFersensplitthescene?”

He laughs. “Before, during, and after. It was definitely the place to be—or at least for a while

anyway.”Heshakeshishead.“Andno,foryourinformation,weweremerelygoodfriends,shehadno
designsonme,ornonethatInoticedatleast.Iwasthinkingmoreintermsofhowsomebeautifulwomen
aren’talwayssopleasedwhenanotheroneentersthescene.”

Ilookathim,takingintheelegantplanesofhisface,thelockofglossydarkhairthatfallsoverhis

eye,thinkinghowgallanthelooks,hownobleheis,howthislookreallysuitshim,reallysayswhoheis,
farmorethanthefadedjeansandblackmotorcyclebootseverdid.

“So what’d Marie Antoinette think of Drina, then?” I ask, remembering her in all of her creamy-

skinned, emerald-eyed, redheaded glory—a beauty so great it robbed me of breath. Realizing just after
it’s out that I’m actually having a conversation about Damen’s evil ex-wife and not feeling even the
slightesttwingeofmyusualjealousy.Andit’snotjustbecauseofthemagickofSummerland,butbecause
Ireally,trulyamatpeacewithitnow.

Though, unfortunately, Damen’s not aware of my new outlook, which probably explains why his

brow’sgoneallslantedandhismouthgrim.WonderingifI’mreallygoingtostartthisupagain,afterhe’s
gonetoallthetroubletomakethisforme.

ButIjustsmile,invitinghimtolookinsidemymindandseeforhimself.IaskedonlybecauseIwas

curious,nothingmore.There’snotahintofjealousytobefound.

“Drina and Marie didn’t quite care for each other,” he says, visibly relieved with my change of

heart.“Imostlycamecallingonmyown.”

Ilookathim,imaginingallofthebeautifulsinglewomenwhomust’vejustswoonedthesecondhe

walkedintheroomwithnopartnerbesidehim—andagain,justlikebefore,Ifeelnothing.

Everyonehasapast.Even,itseems,me.Theonlythingthatreallymattersisthathelovesme.Has

alwayslovedme.Spentthelastfourhundredyearssearchingforme.AndIthinkIfinallygetjusthowbig
adealthatreallyis.

“Let’sstay here forever,”I whisper, pullinghim to me andcovering his facewith my kiss. “We’ll

justtakeupresidenceinthisamazingplace,andwhenwegettiredofit—ifwegettiredofit—we’lljust
manifestsomewhereelsetolive.”

“Wecandothatathome,youknow.”Helooksatme,gazetenderanddeep,handburiedinmyhair,

smoothingthestrands.“Wecanliveanywherewewant—haveanythingwewant—goanywherewewant
—justassoonaswegraduatehighschoolandmoveawayfromSabine.”Helaughs.

AndeventhoughIsmileandlaughalongwithhim,Iknowbetter.
Ican’treallyhavethisathome.
NotafterthespellthatIwove.
AnduntilIcanfindawaytobreakit,thisistheoneandonlyplaceIcanbelikethis,feellikethis.

ThemagickwilldissolvethesecondImakemywaybackthroughtheportal.

“Butinthemeantime,there’sreallynoreasontohurryback—isthere?” He grins, tipping my chin

’tilmylipsmeethis.

Hepressesagainstme,hisbodycoveringmine,thealmostfeelofhishandsonmyskinfillingme

withtingleandheat.Thetwoofussurrenderingtothemoment,surrenderingtothelimitswe’venochoice
buttoaccept.MylipsathisearasImurmur,“NoreasonIcanthinkof.Noreasonatall.”

ChapterTen

“Ever—Ever,wakeup!Wehavetobegettingbacksoon.”
Irollontomybackandstretch,extendingmyarmsuphighovermyhead,whilearchingmybackand

flexingmytoes,movingslowly,leisurely,infusedwithsuchlanguidwarmthI’mtemptedtojustrollover
again.

“Seriously.” Damen laughs, his lips at my ear, nipping the lobe in that way that makes me giggle.

“We’vealreadydiscussedthis,webothagreedwe’dreturneventually.”

I lift one droopy lid, then the other, met by an overload of silk, gilt, and the ruffles from Damen’s

shirtticklingthetipofmynose—I’mstillinVersailles?

“HowlongdidIsleep?”Istifleayawnbutnotverysuccessfully,seeingDamenhoveringoverme,

anamusedlookonhisface.

“There’snotimeinSummerland.”Hesmiles.“Andtrustme,I’lltrynottotakeitpersonallythatyou

noddedoff.”

I stiffen, wide awake now and gaping. “Wait—you mean I fell asleep while you—while we—” I

shakemyhead,cheeksheatingtoathousanddegrees.HardlybelievingIactuallyfellasleep—while we
werekissing.

Henods,luckilylookingmoreamusedthanmad.ButstillIhidemyfacewithmyhands,horrifiedby

eventhethoughtofit.

“That is so embarrassing. Seriously, I’m so—” I shake my head and cringe. Needing no further

testimonytohowexhaustedI’vebeenaftereverythingthat’shappenedinthepastweek.

Herisesfromthebed,helpingmetostandwhenhesays,“Don’tbe.Don’tbesorryorembarrassed.

Youknow,inawayitwaskindofnice.Idon’trecallthateverhappeningbeforeandyoudon’treallyget
to experience many firsts after the first—oh, hundred or so years.” He laughs, pulling me to him as his
armswraptightlyaroundmywaist.“Feelingbetter?”

Inod.That’sthefirstdecentsleepI’vehadsince—well,sinceyouknowwho started invading my

dreams.AndeventhoughI’venoideahowlongIwasout,Ifeelsomuchbetternow,likeI’mreadyto
headbacktotheearthplaneandfaceallofmydemons—oratleastoneinparticular.

“Shallwe?”Heliftshisbrow.
AbouttoclosehiseyesandmaketheveilwhenIsay,“But—whataboutthisplace?What’llhappen

toitonceweleave?”

He shrugs. “Well, I was going to let it go since we can always manifest it again. You know that,

right?”Hegivesmeastrangelook.

AndeventhoughIknowit’seasyenoughforhimtore-createitexactlyasis,somehowIwantitto

stay.Iwanttoknowthatit’ssolidandlasting.AplaceIcanreturntoonawhim,andnotjustsomehazy
figmentofareallygreatday.

Hesmiles,bowingdeeplyasheanswersmythoughts.“Andsoitis.”Hetakesmyhand.“Versailles

stays.”

“Andthis?”Igrin,fluffingthefrillsonhiscream-coloredshirt,causinghimtolaughinawayIdon’t

hearnearlyenoughanymore.

“Well,IthoughtI’dchangeforthereturntriphome—ifthat’sokaywithyou?”
Icockmyheadandscrewmylipstotheside,carefullylookinghimoverasIconsider.“ButIlike

youlikethis.You’resohandsome,sogallant—regal,really.ItmakesmefeellikeI’mlookingatthereal
you,dressedintheperiodyouseemtohavelikedbest.”

Heshrugs.“Iliked’emall—somebetterthanothers,butinretrospecttheyallhadsomethingtooffer.

Andyou,bytheway,lookquitedazzlingtoo.”Hetrailshisfingersovermyjewelsanddownthesnug-
fittingbodiceofmydress.“Butstill,ifwewanttofitinbackhome,acostumechangeisinorder.”

Isigh,sadtoseeoureighteenth-centuryfineryreplacedbyourusualLagunaBeachwear.
“Andnow—”Henods,tuckingmyamuletbackundertheneckofmydress.“Whatdoyousay—my

placeoryours?”

“Neither.”Ipressmylipstogether,knowinghe’snotgoingtolikewhatcomesnextbutcommittedto

beingcompletelyhonestwithhimduringthefewtimesIcan.“IneedtoseeJude.”

Heflinches.It’sminor,barelyvisibletotheuntrainedeye,butstill,Iseeit.AndIneedhimtoknow

whatJudealreadyknows:thatthere’snocompetition.Neverreallywas.Damenwonmyheartcenturies
ago.Andhe’shaditeversince.

“Therewasanaccident.”Inod,determinedtokeepmyvoicecalm,even,andjuststicktothefacts,

nomatterhowgruesome.AndthoughIcouldjustletthesceneflowfrommyheadtohis—Idon’t.There
aretoomanypartsIdon’twanthimtosee,thingshemighttakethewrongway,soinsteadIsay,“I—Isort
ofattackedhim—”

“Ever!”Hebalks,hisexpressionsoshockedit’sallIcandonottolookaway.
“Iknow.”Ishakemyhead,pausingtotakeadeepbreath.“Iknowhowitsounds,butit’snotwhat

you think, I—I was trying to prove he was a rogue—but—well—when I learned that he wasn’t—that’s
whenIrushedhimtotheemergencyroom.”

“Andyoufailedtotellmethisbecause—”Helooksatme,obviouslyhurtbymyneglect.
Isigh,lookingrightathimwhenIsay,“BecauseIwasembarrassed.BecauseImessupallthetime

and I didn’t want you to lose patience with me. I mean, not that I’d blame you—but still.” I shrug,
scratchingmyarmeventhoughitdoesn’titch,yetanothernervoushabitofmine.

He places his hands squarely on my shoulders, looking me right in the eye when he says, “My

feelingsforyouarenotconditional.Idon’tjudgeyou.Idon’tlosepatiencewithyou.Idon’tpunishyou.I
justloveyou.That’sall.Pureandsimple.”Hiseyessearchmyface,hisgazesowarm,soloving,clearly
upholdingthepromiseofhiswords.“Youhavenoreasontohideanythingfromme—ever. Understood?
I’mnotgoinganywhere.I’llalwaysbehereforyou.Andifyouneedanything,findyourselfinabind,or
inoveryourhead,allyouhavetodoisaskandI’llberighttheretobailyouout.”

Inod,unabletospeakI’msohumbledbymyamazinglygoodfortune,feelingsoincrediblyluckyto

belovedbysomeonelikehim—eventhoughI’mnotalwayssureIdeserveit.

“So,yougotakecareofyourfriend,I’lltakecareofthetwins,andwe’llmeetuptomorrow,okay?”
Ileanintokisshim,quickly,carefultoletgoofhishandsincewe’reheadedindifferentdirections.

Closingmyeyeslongenoughtoenvisiontheportalbeforeme,thatshimmeringgoldenveilthat’llleadme

backhome.

I land at Jude’s door, taking a moment to knock a few times, allowing plenty of time for him to

answer, before I decide to give up and go in uninvited. Searching every last room in his tiny beach
cottage,includingthegarageandbackyard,beforelockingupandheadingstraightforthestore.

Butonmywaythere,IpassRoman’s.Andallittakesisonelookatthewindowdisplay—onelook

atthesignoverhead,reading:

RENAISSANCE!

—one look at the open front door that leads directly to him—and just like that, the magick of
Summerlandisgoneandthisstrangeforeignpulse,thishorribleinvader,hastakenoveragain.

Iwillmyselfforward,summoningeverylastbitofmystrengthtomovepastit.Butmylegsaretoo

heavy,unwillingtocooperate,andmybreathrunstooshallowandcomesouttooquickly.

I’mrooted.Unabletoflee.Overcomebythishorribleneedtofindhim—toseehim—tobewithhim.

This ugly invader taking over as though my evening of enchantment never happened. As though I was
neveratpeace.

Thebeastnowawakened,demandingtobefed.Anddespitemybesteffortstogetoutofthisplace

beforeit’stoolate—itistoolate.He’scometofindme.

“Well,fancyfindingyouhere.”
Romanleansinthedoorway,allgoldenhairedandshinyteethed,hisglintingblueeyesfixedrighton

me. “You’re looking rather—piqued. Everything all right?” His contrived British accent causing his
voicetoriseinawaythatusuallyannoysmetonoend,butnow—nowIfinditsoalluringit’sallIcando
tostaywhereIam.Continuingtofightthisepicbattlenowraginginsideme—thatstrange,foreignpulse
versusme.

He laughs, head tossed back in a way that clearly displays the Ouroboros tattoo on his neck—the

snakecoiling,slithering,itsbeadyeyesseekingmine,asitslong,skinnytonguebeckonsmenear.

AnddespiteeverythingIknowaboutgoodandevil,rightandwrong,immortalsandrogues,Istep

forward.Takingonesmallsteptowarddefeat,that’squicklyfollowedbyanother.Andanother.Mygaze
fixedonRoman—gorgeous,gloriousRoman.He’sallIcansee.AllthatIneed.Onlyvaguelyawareof
thatsmallglimmerofme,stillintheresomewhere—struggling,shouting,demandingtobeheard—butit
justcan’tcompete.Andit’snotlongbeforeit’ssilencedbythesingle-mindedpulsenowresidinginside
me—itssightssetononlyonething.

His name swells on my lips, as I stand right before him, so close I can make out each individual

violet fleck in his eyes, and feel the cool chill that emanates off his skin. The same chill I once found
abhorrent,repulsive,butnotanymore.Nowit’sawelcomesiren,callingmehome.

“Alwaysknewyou’dcomearound.”Hegrins,hisgazeslowlytakingmeinasheburieshisfingers

inmytangleofhair.“Welcometothedarkside,Ever,Ithinkyou’llbequitehappyhere.”Helaughs,the
soundofitenvelopingmeinadeliciousfrostbittenhug.“Notsurprisedyoushruggedoffthatoldwanker
Damen.Figuredyou’dgrowtiredofhimeventually.Allofthewaiting—theangst—thegawd-awfulsoul
searching—nottomentionthedo-gooding.”Heshakeshisheadandgrimacesasthoughthethoughtalone
painshim.“Idon’tknowhowyoustooditforaslongasyoudid.Andforwhat,Imightask?BecauseI
hatetobreakittoyou,luv,buttherearenofuturerewardsupyonderwhenyourfuture’srighthere.” He
stamps his foot on the ground. “A bloody waste of time, it is. No use delaying gratification when the
instant kind works best. There are pleasures to be had, Ever. Pleasures of a magnitude you can’t even
begin to understand. But, lucky for you, I’m the forgiving type. I’m more than willing to serve as your
guide.So,tellme,whereshouldwestart,luv,yourplaceormine?”

His fingers trail along my cheek, my shoulder, working their way down to the loose neck of my

dress.Andeventhoughthefeelofit’sicy,bracing,inthestrongestsenseoftheword,Ican’thelpbutlean
into it, can’t help but close my eyes and immerse myself in the feel of it, urging him to scoop lower,
explorefurther,preparedtogowhereverhetakesme—

“Ever?Isthatyou?Areyoufuggingkiddingme?”
IopenmyeyestofindHavenstandingbehindus.Hereyesnarrowed,blazingwithangerastheydart

betweenRomanandme.Notlettingupintheslightestwhenhelaughsandpushesmeaway,discardingme
quicklyandeasily,asthoughitmeantnothingtohim.

“Told you she’d be back, luv.” His gaze sails over my shaky, sweaty body, so overcome with

unrequitedyearning,itpainsmetoseehimslidehisarmaroundher.Thetwoofthemturningtheirbacks
onmeandheadinginsideashesays,“YouknowEver.Shejustcan’tstayaway.”

ChapterEleven

Irun.
Coveringtheblocksinamatterofseconds,appearingasafast-movingblurtoallwhomIpass.ButI

don’t care about that. Don’t care what they think—what they see. I care about only one thing—ridding
myselfofthishorribleinvader,thismysticaltrespasser—sotheoldmecanreturn.

BurstingthroughthedoorjustasJude’sabouttolockit,nearlyknockinghimoverthoughhe’squick

tojumpoutofmyway.

“Ineedhelp.”Istandbeforehim,gasping,wheezing,brokenbeyondrepair.“I—Idon’tknowwhere

elsetogo.”

Helooksmeover,eyesnarrowed,browsknitwithconcern,leadingmetowardthebackroomwhere

hepullsoutachairwithhisfootandmotionsformetosit.

“Easy,”hecoos.“Deepbreaths.Seriously,Ever.Whateveritis,I’msureitcanbefixed.”
Ishakemyheadandleantowardhim,grippingthearmsofmychair,fightingtostayrooted,tonotgo

backthere.“Butwhatifyou’rewrong?”Isay,eyeswild,cheeksflushed,voicehigh-pitchedandshaky.
“Whatifitcan’tbeworkedout?WhatifI’m—whatifI’mbrokenforgood?”

Hemovesaroundhisdeskanddropsontohischair,swivelingbackandforthasheslowlytakesme

in, his face still, placid, impossible to read. But something about the movement, that gentle, constant
pivoting,instantlycalmsme.Allowingmetosettlebackinmyseat,slowmybreath,andfocusontheway
hisdreadlocksspilloverthecolorfulpictureofGaneshthat’ssplashedacrosshistee.

“Look,” I finally say, starting to feel better, almost human again. “I’m—I’m sorry for coming here

likethis.Iwasactuallyonmywayovertogiveyouthis.”Ireachformybag,rootingaroundforthesmall
white package I then hand to him. Watching him peek at the contents as I say, “It’s your prescription. I
pickeditupearlierandmeanttoleaveitonyourdesk,butthenIforgotallaboutit’tilnow.”Henods,
silentforamoment,studyingmecarefullyashesays,“Ever,what’sthisreallyabout?Clearly,you’renot
here to talk about my meds.” He pushes the pills aside with his cast, catching my look when he adds,
“Trustme,Ihavenoplanstotake’em.Painpillsandme—notagoodmix.AsI’msureyou’vealready
witnessed.”

And when he looks at me, I know he remembers. Everything. All of it. The full-on confession he

made.

I press my lips together and lower my gaze, fiddling with the hem of my dress, knowing I’m just

goingthroughthemotionswhenIsay,“Well,youmightwanttotaketheantibioticsatleast—youknow,to
wardoffinfectionandall.”

Heleansbackinhisseatandplaceshisfeetonhisdesk,crossinghislegsattheankleashisamazing

green eyes narrow on me. “What do you say we move past all this and get to the point—what’s really
goingonwithyou?”

Itakeadeepbreath,smoothingmydressovermykneesbeforetentativelymeetinghisgaze.“Idid

come here to bring you the pills, really. But on the way over—something happened—and—” I look at
him,knowingIneedtojustgettothepoint,spititoutalreadybeforeheloseshispatiencewithme.“I
thinkIaccidentallyboundRomantome.”

Helooksatme,tryinghardnottobalk,thoughhestillkindadoes.
“Or,actually,IboundmyselftoRoman.Butnotonpurpose—itwasanaccident.Imeanttodojust

the opposite, but then, when I tried to undo it, it just made things worse. And even though you have
absolutelynoreasontohelpme—believeitornot,Ihavenowheretoturn.”

“Nowhere?”Yousureaboutthat?”Heliftshissplicedbrow.
Gathering my words, hoping they’ll work to convince him, I heave an audible sigh when I say, “I

knowwhatyou’rethinking,butyoumayaswellforgetit.Ican’ttellDamen—hecanneverknowwhat
I’ve done. He doesn’t work magick—doesn’t really trust it for that matter—so it’s not like he can do
anythingtohelp.I’lljustbehurtinganddisappointinghimfornogoodreason.Butyou—you’redifferent.
Youknowyourwayaroundaspell.AndsinceIneedhelpfromsomeonewho’sfamiliarwiththiskindof
thing—well,Ithoughtyoucouldshowmehowtosetthingsright.”

“Soundslikeyou’reputtingalotoffaithinme.”Hetosseshisdreadlocksoverhisshoulderandrests

hisarmsonhislap.

“Maybe.”Ishrug.“ButthenItrulybelievethatit’swarranted.Imean,nowthatI’veprovedyou’re

not evil—” I nod toward his arms, the sight of them sparking an idea, something I just might broach at
somepoint,somethingthatjustmightbetheperfectwaytomakeitalluptohim—butinthefuture,not
now.FirstIneedtogetthroughthis.SwallowinghardasIlowermygaze,horrifiedtohavetoadmitthis,
tosaythewordsoutloud,butknowingit’stheonlyway.“It’slikeI’mobsessedwithRoman.”Iglanceat
himbriefly,seeinghimblanchslightlybutgratefulforhiseffortstocontainit.“I’mtotallyandcompletely
fixatedonhim.He’sallIthinkabout.AllIdreamabout.AndnomatterwhatIdo,Ican’tseemtostopit.”

He nods, head bobbing slightly, as though in deep contemplation. Like he’s flipping through his

mentalspell-reversingbook,searchingforjusttherightcure.“Thisisatoughone,Ever.”Hetakesadeep
breathandlevelshisgazerightonmine.“It’s—complicated.”

Inod,handsclaspedinmylap,alreadypainfullyawareofthat.
“Bindingspells—”Herubshiscastagainsthischin.“Well,theycan’talwaysbeundone.”
I lean forward, striving for calm, striving to speak past my agitated breath. “But—I thought

everythingcanbeundone—youjusthavetoworktherightspellattherighttime—right?”

Hisshouldersriseandfallinamovesofinalitmakesmystomachdip,hisgazeonmineashesays,

“Sorry,I’mjusttellingyouwhatI’velearnedthroughmyyearsofstudyingandpracticingthesethings.But
you’vegotTheBook,you’vegotthissupposedcodethatgetspastthecode—so,youtellme.”

Isigh,leaningbackinmyseat,fingerspickingatthehemofmydress.“TheBook’snotmuchhelp.I

mean,IprettymuchdidexactlywhatRomyandRaynesaid—usedmostallthesameelements—and—”

Helooksatme.“Theexactsameelements?”
“Well,yeah.”Ishrug.“Forthemostpart.Imean,inordertoreverseaspell—youneedtorepeatthe

samestepsasbefore—itsayssorightinthebookandRomyandRayneconfirmedit.”

Henods.Doesn’tsayaword,justnods.Buthisattemptatrestraintringsloudandclear.
“So I can’t imagine what made it go wrong. I mean, at first I thought I’d nailed it, but then it—it

completelygotawayfrommeandstartedreversingitselfalloveragain,repeatingthesamesequenceof

eventsasbefore.”

“Ever, I know you repeated the steps, but did you also repeat the same tools? The same herbs,

crystals,andwhateverelseyoumight’veused?”

“Somenew,someold.”Ishrug,notquitegettinghispoint.
“What’sthemaintoolyouused—theonethatreallygotthespellrolling?”
“Well,afterthebath,I—”Inarrowmyeyesandthink,theanswercominginstantly:“Theathame.”I

look at him, both of us knowing that’s it—the big wrong thing that I did. “I—I used it for a blood
exchange,and—”

His eyes widen, his cheeks pale, and his aura begins to quiver in a way that’s more than a little

frightening.“Andwasthisthesameathameyouusedonme?”heasks,hisconcernringingloudandclear.

Ishakemyhead,seeinghisfacefloodwithrelief.“No,thatwasjustaquicklymanifestedreplica.

Therealone’sathome.”

Henods,obviouslygladtohearitbutdeterminedtomoveon.“Well,Ihatetosayit,butthat’sthe

onethingyouwantedtomakenew.Youneedtoofferthegoddesssomethingnew,pure,andunused.You
can’tserveherwiththesametaintedtoolsyouusedforthequeenoftheunder-world.”

Oh.
Helooksatme,gazesaddened,eyestuggingdownatthecornerswhenhesays,“I’dlovetohelpyou,

reallyIwould,butthiskindofthingisalittleovermyhead.MaybeyoushouldconsultwithRomyand
Rayne,theyseemtoknowwhatthey’redoing.”

“But do they?” I squint, unsure where I’m going with this, and really just thinking out loud when I

say,“Becausethethingis,Ididlistentothem.Ididwhattheysaid.Imean,granted,theydidn’tlikethe
athame, claimed I’d made it all wrong and wanted me to melt it down to a stub, but still, even when I
refused,theyjustletitgo.TheyneveroncesaidIcouldn’tuseitagainorthatIhadtouseawholenewset
oftoolsinordertoreversethespell.Somehowtheyfailedtosharethatwithme.”

Oureyesmeet,bothofuswonderingthesamething.Whywouldtheydothat?Wasitonpurpose?

Dotheyreallydislikemethatmuch?WithJudedismissingthethoughtalotquickerthanI.Butthen,he
doesn’tknowourhistory.Ahistorysocomplicatedandvolatile,Ican’truleitout.

“Listen,they’reextremelyclosetoDamen—theylovehimaboutasmuchastheyhateme.Seriously.”

I nod, knowing it’s not an exaggeration—it’s completely and totally true. “And despite the fact they
they’resupposedlygoodwitches,Iwouldn’tputitpastthemtodothis,thinkingtheywereteachingmea
lesson, or heck, maybe even trying to keep Damen and me apart. I mean, who knows what they’ve got
planned?Butevenifitwasn’tintentional,eveniftheyjustsimplydidn’tknowanybetter,there’snowayI
canapproachthem.Becauseiftheydiddoitonpurpose,they’lltellDamen,andundernocircumstances
whatsoevercanhefindoutaboutthis—Ican’thurthimthatway.Andiftheydidn’t,well,thenit’sjustone
morepieceofammunitionintheirarsenalofthingswithwhichtoridiculeme.”

Judeleanstowardme,hisfacedeterminedwhenhesays,“Ever,Igetyourdilemma,reallyIdo.But

don’tyouthinkyou’recomingoffasjustalittlebitparanoidthesedays?”

I narrow my eyes and lean back in my chair, wondering if he’s listened to a single word I’ve just

said.

“Imean,firstyouaccusemeofbeingarogue,which,bytheway,Istilldon’tknowwhattheheck

thatisotherthanithassomethingtodowithRoman,whonotonly,wellaccordingtoyouanyway,runshis
owntribeofevildoersbutwhoyoualsojusthappentobothloatheandlustafterduetosomebindingspell
gonewrong.Andwhileyoucan’tbetoosure,it’squitepossible,oratleastinyourminditis,thatRomy
andRayneareouttogetyou,whichiswhytheypurposelyleftcrucialpiecesofinformationoutoftheir
instructionssothatyoucouldmessupinsuchawaythatwouldkeepyouandDamenapart.Andspeaking

of Damen, you’re also convinced he’d never forgive you for this mess that you’ve made—and—” He
shakeshishead.“DoyouseewhatI’mgettingat?”

Ifrown,armscrossed,eyesnarrowedtoslits,refusingtoacknowledgeanyofit—besides,it’snot

thatsimple,itgoesmuchdeeperthanthat.

“Ever,please,Iwanttohelpyou,youshouldknowthatbynow,butI’malsodeterminedtodothe

rightthing.YouneedtotakethistoDamen.I’msurehe’llunderstandand—”

“I’vealreadyexplained,”Isay.“Hedoesn’ttrustmagickandhealreadywarnedmeagainstusingit.

Ican’tbearforhimtoknowIdidn’tlisten,andjusthowlowI’vesunk.”

Judeleansbackandstudiesmeclosely,hisvoiceasighwhenhesays,“Ah,butyou’venoproblem

withmeknowing,isthatit?”Hegivesahalfsmilethatneverquitereacheshiseyes.

Itakeadeepbreathandlookathim,determinedtoshootasstraightandopenlyasIcan.“Trustme,

this isn’t comfortable for me either, but I’ve pretty much got nowhere else to go. But, hey, if you don’t
wanttogetinvolved,justsaysoandI’ll...”

I grip my armrests, lifting myself out of my chair, preparing to leave. Stopped by the lure of those

deep aqua green eyes coaxing me back into my seat, as he slides open a drawer, riffles through the
contents,andsays,“LookslikeI’malreadyinvolved.Let’sseewhatIcando.”

ChapterTwelve

“AndhereIthoughtIwasdestinedtoheadofftoFlorencewithoutafinalgood-byefromyou!”Miles

graspsmetohiminwhatcouldonlybedescribedasabearhug.PeeringovermyshoulderatDamenand
eyeballinghimcarefullywhenhewhispers,“Gladtoseeyou’rebacktogetheragain.”

Ipullawayandshoothimadubiouslook.RememberingthelasttimeIsawhim,atthegoing-away

partyIthrewforhimlastweek,andhowheurgedmetomoveonfromDamenandfindhappinesswith
Jude.

Hereadsmygazeasthoughreadingmymind,hislipscurvingintoagrinashesays,“SoIwantto

seeyouhappy—isthatsobad?”Heturns,givingDamenalittlehalfwave,whenheadds,“Heck,Iwant
toseeeveryonehappy—whichiswhyyoumightwanttosteerclearofjustabouteveryroominthishouse
excepttheoneyou’reinnow.Andthatincludesthebackyard.”

Damen’s arm tightens around me, pulling me into a protective embrace, his voice tinged with

concernwhenhesays,“Sothere’ssomeoneontheguestlistwhomightmakeusunhappy?”

Iglancebetweenthem,alreadyknowingtheanswer.Iknewittheinstantwegotoutofthecarand

walkedupthedrivetohisdoor.Themomentthatstrange,foreignpulseawakenedinsideme,alertingme
totheonething,theonlythingIneedtoknow:

Romanishere.
Therestisjustdetails.
Milesscrewshislipstothesideandrunshisfingersthroughhisshortdarkhair.“Ohno,therewas

noguestlist—justarandomgroupofpeoplewhostartedstoppingbyaroundnoonandhaven’tstopped
yet.Andjustsoyouknow,IknowallaboutyouandHaven,so—”

“Excuse me?” I study him closely, peering at his aura, its usual well-meaning yellow now tinged

withaconflictedgray.

Helooksatme,pursinghislipsandshakinghisheadwhenhesays,“Listen,Iknowallaboutit,she

toldme.AndwhileIwishIcouldstickaroundandhelpyoutwoworkitout—”

“Whatdidshesay?Whatwereherexactwords?”Iask,mygazefixedonMilesasDamengripsmy

waisttighter,bothofusonhighalert,watchingasheshakeshishead,andmimesazipperbeingpulled
acrosshismouth.

“Oh no, don’t even go there. Seriously, Ever, don’t even try. All I know is that you’re no longer

talking.Asfortherest—I’mSwitzerland.Totallyneutral.Irefusetogetinvolved.Becausethetruthis,I
reallydon’twishIcouldstickaroundtofixit.Iwasjustbeingnice.Ican’twaittogettoFlorenceand
leave you guys here to work it out on your own. And you better work it out too, because I will not be

forcedtochoosesideswhenIgetback.Imean,youmayhavetheadvantagesinceyougivemeridesto
schoolandall,butstill,I’veknownHavenlonger,andthat’sgottacountforsomething,right?”Hecloses
hiseyesandshakeshishead,asthoughthewholemessisjusttoomuchtoprocess.

“Miles, that’s all well and good, but I’m afraid it’s imperative we know exactly what it is Haven

toldyou.”Damen’svoiceislow,urgent,filledwithintent,makingitclear,oratleasttomeanyway,thatif
Milesdoesn’tfessup,he’sjustsecondsawayfrombreakingourvowtoneverspyonourfriends’private
thoughtsandpeerrightinsidehisheadtoseeforhimself.“Itwon’tgetbacktoherifthat’swhatyou’re
worriedabout,butI’mafraidwemustknow.”

Mileslooksathim,heavingadramaticsighandrollinghiseyes“Ettu,Damen?”hesays,glancing

betweenus,clearlyunhappywiththepeerpressurewe’reinflictingonhim.“Fine,I’lltellyou,butonly
becausethistimetomorrowI’moutofhere—sailingthroughthecloudsatthirtythousandfeet,watching
moviesI’vealreadyseenandfillinguponhigh-sodiumfoodthat’ssuretobloatme.Butjustremember,no
matterhowuglyitgets,youaskedforit.”Helooksatus,pausingdramatically,facegoneallseriouswhen
hesays,“ShetoldmeyouguysaredeterminedtokeepherfromRoman,because,andremember,theseare
herwordsnotminesodon’tshootthemessenger,butbasicallyshethinksyou’rejealous.Well,notreally
you,Damen,butEverforsure.ShethinksEver’sjealousbecause,again,herwords.”Heclearshisthroat,
strivingforjusttherightraspy-voiced,Haveninflection.“I’mfinallycomingintomyownandEvercan’t
stand the fact that she’s no longer the special one.” He rolls his eyes and shakes his head. And even
thoughIfeelbadthatwemadehimrepeatit,I’malsosecretlythrilledthatitisn’tatallwhatIthought.
Shemayhateme,butshe’sstillmanagedtokeepherimmortalitytoherself—atleastfornowanyway.

Damen nods, coolly, calmly, but I can tell he’s relieved too. And I just look at Miles, shrugging

casuallywhenIsay,“Wow.I’mreallysorrytohearthat.”

Butthetruthis,I’vealreadymovedon.Thatstrangemagickisstirringinsideme,causingmyheartto

race,mypalmstosweat,asthatrestless,twitchyfeelingtakesoveragain.AndallIwanttodoisditch
thesetwoasfastasIcansoIcanfindhim.Roman.I’vegotanuncontrollablehungerthatneedstobefed,
nomatterthecosttomeormyfriends.

Iswallowhard,takingslowmeasuredbreathsandstrugglingtosteadymyself.Clingingtothesmall

glimmerofsanitythat’smanagedtoremaindespitethebattlethatragesaroundit.

“So,thereyouhaveit.Agoodold-fashionedgirlfight.”Milesshrugs.“ToobadI’mnotthetypeto

appreciatethatkindofthing—thoughyoumight.”

HemotionstowardDamen,butDamen’squicktodispelit.“Iassureyou,Igotoverthattypeofthing

a long time ago.” He nods, a brief flash of sorrow crossing over his face, a memory of Drina and me
that’shereandgonebeforeIcanblink.

Milesnods,glancingbetweenuswhenheadds,“Thoughsheisrightaboutonething—”
Damen shifts ever so slightly, on high alert for whatever that might be, while I stand beside him,

nervous,fidgety,onlywishinghe’dcometome.

“She really is looking pretty smokin’ these days. I mean, I don’t know if it’s her new, post-

apocalyptic,rock’n’rollgypsylookshe’sgotgoing,orwhat.Butit’slikeshe’sfinallyfindingherself,
comingintoherownlikeshesaid,youknow?Andafterbeingsolostforsolong,it’sgottobeapretty
headyfeelingtofinallygainalittleself-empowerment,sotrytocuthersomeslack,okay?She’llcome
around. Eventually. But for now, I think we should just sit back and try not to take it personally. Or at
leastyouguysshould,becauseme—I’mheadedforFlorence—didImentionthat?”

I nod, automatically, robotically, rearranging my face into what I hope comes off as a pleasant

expression. Hoping everything about me appears pleasant, friendly, and completely agreeable, because
inside, I’m stirring, burning, and there’s no way in hell I’m gonna let her enjoy that ride if it involves

bringingRomanalong.

No.
Way.
ButIdon’tsaythat.Idon’tsayaword.Ijustshrugasthoughithardlyconcernsme,asIcontinueto

surveytheroom.Justbidingmytimeuntilmyfavoriteblue-eyed,blond-hairedgoldenboyappears.

“SoIguesswhatI’mtryingtosayisthatnomatterwhathappensbetweenyouguys,I’mnotchoosing

sides,whichalsomeansyou’reallequallywelcomehere.Butthatdoesn’tmeanIinvitedherentourageto
stopby—Havencameupwiththatallonherown.Becausehonestly,don’ttellherIsaidso,butRoman’s
kindof—”Hefrownsandstaresoffintospace,searchingforjusttherightword,beforeshakinghishead
andstartingagain.“Well—whatever—let’sjustsaythere’ssomethingkindof—offabouthim—something
kind of—strange. I don’t really know how to explain it, but it’s kind of the same feeling I had with
Drina.”

Hisgazeswitchesbetweenus,searchingforconfirmationthathereallyisontosomething,buteven

though my attentions are elsewhere, Damen and I are united in this, standing side by side—a wall of
nonchalancehecannotpenetrate.

“Anyway.”Heshrugs.“Hemakesherhappy,andthat’sallthatmatters.Imean,it’snotlikewecan

stopit,right?”

Oh,youhavenoidea.Inarrowmygazeandpressmylipstogether,strugglingtokeepitcontained.
“Imean,seriously...”
MilesyammersonandonasItaketheopportunitytopeerintohishead.Dippingineversoslightly

and taking a quick peek around, sensing his excitement for his trip, his anxiety at leaving Holt, and
absolutelynoknowledgewhatsoeverofrogues,immortals,oranythingelseofthesort.

“...sobasicallyyouhaveeightweeks—twowholemonthstogetitclearedup.AndI’mcountingon

you,Ever,sinceweallknowhowstubbornHavencanbe.Imean,Iloveherandall,butlet’sfaceit,she
lovestoberightmorethananyoneIknow—andwillfighttotheabsolutedeathtodefendherself—even
whenshe’sdeadwrong.”

I nod, having already popped back out of his head and renewed my vow to never do it again.

WatchingasDamenreachesintohispocketandretrievesapieceofpaperfoldedintoaneatlittlesquare
—anoteheprobablymanifestedjustasecondbefore.

“I made you that list we talked about.” He nods, responding to Miles’s blank look when he adds,

“ThelistofplacesyoushouldcheckoutinFirenze—placesyouwon’twanttomiss.It’salongone.”He
shrugs.“Shouldkeepyoubusyforthenextseveralweeks.”HisgazemeetsMiles’s,lookingathimina
way that’s calm, placid, devoid of any hints at ulterior motives, meant to convince. But I know better.
Knowwithoutbeingtoldthathe’sbentonsteeringhimawayfromthelistRomangavehimafewweeks
before—butwhatIdon’tknowiswhy.

The last time I asked, he completely clammed up and refused to talk about it. All I know is that

RomanisurgingMilestovisitsomeout-of-the-wayplacethatclaimstohostsomerareantiquitiesandit’s
got Damen worried. Though I can’t imagine why, since all of his paintings perished in a fire that he
himselfsetoverfourhundredyearsago—afirethatdestroyedeverythinginhiscollection,including—for
allintentsandpurposes—him.

Mileslooksitover,eyessweepingfromtoptobottombeforefoldingitbackupandshovingitinto

hisshirtpocket.“Trustme,afterseeingthegruelingscheduletheysentyesterday,I’llbeluckytofindtime
tosleep.They’reprettyseriousaboutusspendingeverysparesecondimprovingourcraft,youknow,like
anactualactingcamp,andnotquitethefreewheelingItalianholidayIwasexpecting.”

Damennods,aflashofreliefplayingacrosshisfacesoquicklyyou’dmissitifyoublinked.ButI

didn’tblink.Isawit.AndifIwasn’tsopreoccupiedwiththoughtsofRoman,Imightpullhimasideto
askwhy.ButinsteadIjuststandthere,unabletoignorethefactthathisusualtingleandheatiscompletely
obliteratedbytheinsistentpulsethatnowthrobsinitsplace.

Apulsethat’snottheleastbitdeterredbythesightofJudeheadingtowardus.
Hepauses,grantingmeabriefnodofacknowledgmentbeforefocusingonDamen.Thetwoofthem

stiffening, straightening, squaring their shoulders, and expanding their chests in a way so primitive I’m
remindedofwhatJudesaidtheothernight—aboutthetwoofthembeinglockedinaprimalcompetition
overme.

Twogorgeous,smart,gifted,talentedguys,fightingoverme.AndallIcanthinkaboutistheonein

thenextroom.Theonedatingmyfriend.Theonewho’sasevilasheisirresistible.

DamenmotionstowardJude’sbandagedarms,andsays,“That’sgottahurt.”
Andthewayhesaidit,theinflectioninhisvoice,coupledwiththelookonhisface,well,Ican’t

helpbutwonderifhemeantitinaphysicalwayoranemotionalone,sinceweallknowI’mtheonewho
madehimthatway.

Judeshrugs,acasualriseandfallofhisshouldersthatcauseshisdreadlockstospilldownhisarms,

gazingatmewhenhesays,“Well,I’vebeenbetter.ButEver’sdoingherbesttomakeupforit.”

Miles glances between us, nose and forehead all scrunched when he says, “Wait—are you saying

Everdidthattoyou?”

IglanceatJude,havingnoideahowhemightanswer,andstoppingjustshortofheavinganaudible

sighofreliefwhenheshakeshisheadandlaughs.

“She’shelpingoutinthestore.”Heshrugs.“That’sallImeant—nothingsinister—nothingnearlyas

embarrassingasgettingsmackeddownbyagirl.”

Andthesecondit’sout,Ilaugh.Partlybecauseeveryone’ssosilent,caughtupinaweboftensionso

thickyoucouldchopitwithanaxe—andpartlybecauseI’msohighlywound,sotwitchyandedgy,Ican’t
thinkofwhatelsetodo.Butunfortunatelyithappenstobeoneofthoseawfullaughs.Theloud,garish,
horriblydesperatekindthatonlymanagestomagnifyjusthowtrulyawkwardthemomentreallyis.

Damenstandsbesideme,stoic,conflicted,determinedtodowhat’srightforus—forme—thoughnot

alwayssurewhatthatis.AndIfeelsobadforcausingthismess,forbeingsuchaterriblegirlfriend,for
longingfortheonepersonwho’smadeourlivesnothingbutdifficult,thatIshutmyeyesbrieflyandsend
himafloodoftelepathicredtulipsinanattempttomakeupforit.ButinsteadoftheflowersIintended,he
receivesasputtering,drippy,malformedblotchofredonsquigglygreenstems.Thelamestbouquetever
created.

He turns, squinting at me with concern as Jude takes the moment to say, “Listen, I’m gonna

—vamanos. So, Miles—” His cast meets the center of Miles’s palm, resulting in something between a
slapandashake.“And,Ever—”Heturnstowardme,hisgazelingeringforjustafewsecondstoolong,
longenoughtomakemesquirm,longenoughforeveryonetonotice.AndIcan’thelpbutwonderifhedid
itonpurpose,soDamenwillknowIchoseJudeoverhiminmytimeofneed,orifhereallyisthatbada
liar and is struggling to hide the secret we share. Switching his gaze to Damen as the two of them
exchange a loaded look I can’t read, turning away only when Miles ushers him out the front door. And
that’s all it takes to convince me to do the right thing. To stop pushing Damen away, come clean, and
finallyacceptthehelphe’salreadyofferedtome.

I turn, grasping his arm as my eyes seek his, ready to spill the whole sordid tale, but my throat

squeezestight,haltingmywordsandpracticallycuttingoffmyairsupply,turningwhatwasmeanttobea
confessionintoared-faced,sputtering,coughingfit.

And when Damen slides his arm around me and asks if I’m okay, it’s all I can do not to push him

away.ButIdon’t,IsummonallmystrengthtopullittogetherasbestasIcan.Bowingmyhead,closing
myeyes,andwaitingfortheoutbursttodiedown.KnowingI’mnolongerincharge,ofme,ofanything.
Themonsterisrising,nowwideawake,andit’snotabouttoletDamencomebetweenRomanandme.

Miles closes the door behind Jude and turns to us and says, “Nope, nothing awkward about that.”

Glancingbetweenusashesighsandshakeshishead.

Ireachinsidemybag,franticallyfishingarounduntilIfindwhatIwant.Thesmall,sanepartofme

knowingIneedtomovethisalong,handoverthegiftandmakemywayoutofherebeforeit’stoolate,
beforethisstrangemagicktakesovercompletelyandforcesmetodosomethingI’llsurelyregret.Roman
isgettingcloser.Icanfeelhimdrawingnear.AndIneedtogetoutofherewhileIstillcan.

“Wecan’tstaylong,butIjustwantedyoutohavethis,”Isay,hopinghedoesn’tnoticethetremorin

my hands when I hand over the leather-bound journal I picked up at the store. Concentrating on taking
slowdeepbreaths,determinedtokeepthebeastatbay,watchingasherunshishandoverthefrontbefore
flippingthroughtherough-edgedpagesinside.TryingtoridmyvoiceofitsedginesswhenIsay,“Imean,
Iknowyou’llprobablyblogyourwholejourney,butjustincaseyoudon’thaveInternetaccess,oryou
wanttokeepsomestuffprivate,Ithoughtyoucouldwriteitdownhere.”

Milesgrins,lookingatmewhenhesays,“Firstapartyandnowagift?Youspoilme,Ever!”
AndthoughIrespondwithasmile,thetruthis,hiswordsbarelyregister.Everythingisupstagedby

thesimplefactthatRomanishere.

ThesecondIseehim,theinvadertakesover,effectivelysmotheringwhateversmallglimmerofme

managedtohangonforthislong,andinstantlyreplacingitwithaninsistentthrumthatgrowsincreasingly
bolder.

Athrumthatwon’tstopuntilRomanandIjoinasone.
Damen’s arm tightens around me, aware of the change in my energy, clearly on edge. Poised and

readyforjustaboutanything,asfirstMisa,thenMarcoandRafe,saygood-byetoMiles,asHaven,clad
in a purple velvet dress that brings out the sheen of her perfect, pale skin, looks on. Her glinting eyes
sweepingoverme,asherheavilyringedfingerstapominouslyagainstherhips.Andifshestillhadan
auratoview,there’snodoubtI’dbegazingintoasolidwallofthedarkest,mostblazingred.

Butit’snotlikeIneedtoreadherenergytoknowhowshe’sfeelingorwhatshe’sthinking.She’s

exactlylikemenow—immortal—myopic—withonlyonegoalinsight—Roman.Willingtodowhatever
ittakestostakeherclaim.

Her gaze rakes over me, working its way from my head to my toes. So sure of her powers, so

overconfidentinherfledglingabilities,I’mquicklydismissedwithacasualshrug.

SheleansintowardMiles,givinghimabriefhuggood-bye,quicklyslippingoutofthewaywhen

Romangraspshiminoneofthosebrief,back-slappingmanhugs,handstillgrippinghisshoulderwhenhe
says,“Nowdon’tforget,justafteryou’vecrossedthePonteVecchio,headdownthealley,takealeftand
thenanother,andit’sthethirddoorontheright.Bigreddoor—can’tmissit.”Eyesgleaminginabillion
pointsoflightwhenheglancesatDamenandseesthewaythecolorjustdrainedfromhisface.“It’sworth
thetrip,mate,trustmeonthat.”HeturnstowardMilesagain.“Hell,askDamen—wouldn’tyousayit’s
worththetrip?Surelyyouknowtheplace?”

DamengazesatRoman,jawclenched,lidsnarrowed,strivingforacalm,eventonewhenhesays,

“Can’tsaythatIdo.”

ButRomanjustsquints,headcockedtothesideasheslipsintoathickcockneybrogue.“Yousure

’boutthat,mate?CouldasworeIsawryouintharb’fore?”

“Doubtful,”Damensays,thewordhard,final,thechallengeclearlydisplayedinhisgaze.
ButRomanjustlaughs,handsraisedinsurrenderandturningtowardmewhenhesays,“Ever.”

Andthat’sallittakes.ThemerementionofmynameonhislipsandI’mliquid.
Puremoltenliquid.
Willingtofollowwhereverheleads.
Imovetowardhim,luredbyhissteelybluegaze.Eachsmallstepbringingmeclosertotheimages

now unfolding in his head—the ones he’s placed there for me. The exact kind of thing that would’ve
disgustedmebefore—makemewanttopunchouthischakrasandbedonewithallthis.Butnotnow.

NowI’msobreathlessandheatedIcan’tgettherequicklyenough.
Damen reaches toward me—both mentally and physically—trying to send me a message, trying to

pull me back to him, but it’s no use. His thoughts are mumbled, jumbled, making no sense at all. Just a
longstringofwordsI’venointerestin.

Roman’stheonlythingthatinterestsmenow.
He’smysun,moon,andstarsandIhappilyrevolveallaroundhim.
Itakeanotherstep,myhandsshaking,bodyaching,yearningforthechillofhistouchonmyskin.No

longercaringwhosees—whatthey’llthink—onlywantingtofeedthehungrymonsterwithinme.

And just as I’m about to do it, about to take that final leap forward, he sweeps right past me and

sauntersoutsidetohiscar.Leavingmeunsteady,uncertain,breathless,andconfused—asMilesstandsby,
unsurewhattodo—andDamenlooksonwithconcern.

Summoningeveryounceofhiswilltoholdittogether,tokeepthingsontrack,atleastwhileMilesis

present, and going right back to where we left off when he says, “Roman’s taste in art is pedestrian at
best.Stickwithmylistandyoucan’tgowrong.”Hisfaceappearingcomposed,relaxed,butIknowit’s
anythingbut.Theenergythatemanatesoffhimtellsawholeotherstory.

AndIwishIcouldcareinthewayI’msupposedto—inthewaythatIeventuallywilloncethispulse

starts to fade and the impact of what I’ve just done comes reeling back at me. But that’s a horrifying
momentreservedforthefuture.Rightnow,allIcanthinkaboutishim.

Wherehe’sgoing.
Ifshe’swithhim.
AndwhatIcandotostopthem.
Milesglancesbetweenus,wishinghecouldjustboardthatjetandbedonewithallthis.Nervously

clearinghisthroatwhenhesays,“So,nowthatthat’sover,youwannajointherestoftheparty?Thecast
isupinthegameroomandwe’reabouttoperformthehighlightsofHairsprayprettysoon.”

Damenstartstoshakehisheadno,butIoverridehim.EventhoughIwanttodoprettymuchanything

buttakepartinashow-tunessing-along,ifI’veanyhopeofsalvation,Ineedtostayhere.Rightherein
thishousewhereit’ssafe.IfIgooutside,I’llgoafterhim,andfromthatmomenton,there’llbenoturning
back.

Besides,Ineedthedistraction.Ican’tbeartoseeDamen’squestioninggaze,thelookofhurtonhis

face.Ineedsometimetocalmandcentermyself,soIcaneventuallyexplainthestrange,awfultruthof
what’shappeningtome.

I grasp his hand tightly and lead him upstairs, hoping the energy veil that hovers between us will

maskmyclammy,coldskin,asIenterthegameroomwithasmileandwave.

RememberingthesecretMilesoncetoldmeaboutacting—thatit’sallaboutprojecting—projecting

—projecting—believingtheliesoferventlytheaudiencebuysittoo.

ChapterThirteen

“Damen—I—” I try to tell him—try to force the words from my lips, but they won’t come. My

throat’s gone all hot, tight, and crowded again. As though the beast knows my agenda and refuses to
comply.

Damenlooksatme,hisgrowingconcernclearlystampedonhisface.
“Let’s—let’sgotoSummerland,”Icroak,amazedIcouldevensaythat.“BacktoVersailles.”Inod,

swivelinginmyseatuntilI’mfullyfacinghim,begginghimwithmyeyestogoalongwithmyplan.

“Now?”Hebrakesatalightandlooksatme,hiseyesnarrowed,foreheadscrunched—thetelltale

signsI’mbeingscrutinized.

Ipressmylipstogetherandshrug,strivingtoappearrelaxed,nonchalant,asthoughI’mreallynotall

that attached to the outcome, when the truth is I’ve been twitchy and itchy from the moment we got to
Miles’stothemomentweleft,andtheonlythingthatwillcureit,theonlythingthatwillenablemeto
confideinDamenandaskforthehelpthatIneedistogettoSummerlandASAP.Hereontheearthplane,
I’mnolongerincontrolofme.

“Ithoughtyoulikeditthere,”Isay,carefullyavoidinghisgaze.“Imean,afterall,you’retheonewho

createdit.”

Henods—nodsinthewaythatyoudowhenyou’renotjuststrivingforpatiencebutalsotryingto

hidewhatyou’rethinking.Andthetruthis,Ican’ttakeit.Iseriouslycan’tstandit.Ijustwanttogo—now.
Beforethisstrangeinvadertakesovercompletely.

“I do like it,” he says, voice low, measured. “As you pointed out, I’m the one who made it. And

whileI’mgladyouseemtoreallylikeittoo—I’malsoconcerned.”

I blow my hair out of my face and cross my arms before me, doing my best to broadcast my

annoyance.Imean,it’snotlikeIhavealotoftimetowastehere.

“Ever,I—”
He reaches toward me, but I quickly squirm out of his way. Yet another symptom of my awful

addiction,andit’scompletelyinvoluntary.TheveryreasonIneedtogetoutofthisplace.

Heshakeshisheadandstartsagain,gazedeeplysaddenedwhenhesays,“What’sgoingonwithyou?

Youhaven’tbeenyourselffordays.Andjustnow,backatMiles’s”—heglancesoverhisshoulderashe
quicklychangeslanes—“well,Ihatetosayit,butthemomentyousawJude,well,let’sjustsaytherewas
a definite change in your energy, and then when Roman came into the room—” He swallows hard and
clencheshisjaw,takingamomenttopullittogetherbeforehesays,“Ever,what’shappenedtoyou?”

Ibowmyhead,awareofthestingatthebackofmyeyesasItryonceagaintotellhim—butIcan’t—

themagickwon’tletme.Soinstead,Iturntohimandpickafight,knowingthebeasthasnoproblemwith
that,andwillingtodowhateverittakestoconvincehimtofollowme,togoawaywithme.

“Thisisridiculous!”Isay,instantlyhatingmyselfbutleftwithnootherchoice.“Seriously.Ican’t

believeyou’resayingthis!Incaseyouhaven’tnoticed,mydreamsummeroflyingonthebeachwithyou
doesn’tseemlikeit’sgoingtocometofruitionanytimesoon,soexcusemeforwantingtograbthefew
momentsIcantoheadofftoSummerland!”Ishakemyheadandlookaway,crossingmyarmseventighter
but mostly to hide the fact that they’re shaking so badly I can barely control them. Knowing I’m being
unfair, completely unreasonable, but if he’d just come with me, if I could just get him there, then I can
explaineverything.

Awareoftheweightofhisgazeonmyface,thewayhe’stakinginthenewlydarkcirclesjustunder

myeyes,thefreshsprinklingofacnecoveringmychin,thewaymyclothesarestartingtohangonmeall
droopyandloose,thankstotheweightthatI’velost.Wonderingwhat’sbroughtthison,whyIseemtobe
failingatjustabouteverything.Sogenuinelyconcernedaboutme—itmakesmyheartache.

And when he narrows his gaze even further, I know he’s trying to reach me telepathically, to

communicateinawaythat’snolongeranoption—oratleastnothereanyways.

SoIturn,turntowardthewindow,desperatetoshieldhimfromthehorribletruththatIcannolonger

hearhim.Nolongerhaveaccesstohisthoughts,hisenergy,oreventhetingleandheathistouchusedto
bring.

Allofthat’sgone.Eradicated.Thebeasthastakenitfromme.
Butonlyhere.InSummerlandI’llberested,clear-skinned,justliketheoldme.Andthetwoofus

togetherwillbeeverythingwewereevermeanttobe.

“Justcomewithme,”Iplead,myvoicehoarseandweak.“Icanexplain—butonlythere,nothere.

Please?”

Helooksatmeandsighs.Tornbetweenwantingtopleasemeanddoingwhathethinksbest.
“No,”hesaysinawaysounequivocal,sononnegotiable,there’snomistakingwhatitmeans.
NotonlyisitanotoSummerland,it’sanotome.AnototheoneandonlythingthatIneed.
He shakes his head, face heavy with regret when he adds, “Ever, I’m sorry, really I am, but no.

We’renotgoing.Ithinkit’sbetterifweheadhome,backtomyhouse,wherewecansitdownandhavea
nicelongtalk,gettothebottomofjustwhatexactlyisgoingonwithyou.”

I sit beside him, hollow-eyed, zit-faced, twitchy and edgy, barely able to contain myself, barely

holdingittogetherashemakesalongverballistofconcerns.HowIhaven’tbeenmyselflately,howI
don’tevenlooklikemyselfanymore,howmuchI’vechangedineveryway,shape,andform—notoneof
thesechangesforthebetter.

Butthetruthis,thewordssailrightoverme,likeavagueanddistanthum.I’mgoingtoSummerland,

withorwithouthim,there’sreallynochoiceinthematter.

“Areyoudrinkingyourelixir?Doyouneedanewsupply?Ever,please,talktome—what’sgoing

on?”

Iclosemyeyesandshakemyhead,blinkingbackthethreatoftears,unabletoexplainthatIcan’t

stopthisrunawaytrain.I’mnolongertheconductorinchargeofthisthing.

Henarrowshisgaze,makingonelastattempttoreachmetelepathically,butit’snouse.Icouldn’t

guessthemessageifItried.Mysystemisfried.

“Youcan’tevenhearmeanymore,canyou?”
Hestopsatalightedcrosswalkandreachestowardmeagain,butifnothingelseI’mstilllightonmy

feetandquicklyjumpoutofthecar.Myarmswrappedsotightlyaroundmethey’reabouttogonumb.My
fingerstwitching,bodythrumming,knowingifIdon’tgetoutofherequick,I’llhavenochoicebuttogo

findhim.Roman.Nochoiceatall.

“Listen,” I say, voice tremulous, completely unsteady, but knowing I need to get this settled either

way,I’mdowntothewire,I’venotimetowaste.“I’llexplainwhenwegetthere—Iswear.Just—ithas
tobethere—nothere. So—you comingor not?” Iclench my jaw andgrit my teeth,trying to keep them
fromchattering,keepmylipsfromtremblinginawayhecan’tmiss.

Heswallowshard,browslanted,eyessaddened,thewordrequiringagreatdealofeffortwhenhe

says, “Not,” so quietly I almost missed it. Then repeating it again when he adds, “I’d much rather stay
hereandgetyousomehelp.”

Ilookathim,lookathimforaslongasIcanstand,which,truthbetold,isn’tlongatall.Wantingso

badlytoclimbbackintohisnicewarmcarandhughiminthewaythatIusedto,tofeelhisarmswrapped
aroundme,tobesoothedbyhistingleandheat,andconfessallmysins’tilthey’rewashedawayclean.
But unfortunately that sentiment comes from the smallest part of me—the small glimmer of sanity that’s
quicklycrushedbythepartthatprefersitsfruitdirty,evil,andthemoreforbiddenthebetter.

So,instead,Ijustnod,seeinghislookofastonishmentasIclosemyeyesandpicturetheportal—that

glorious,shimmeringportal.SteppingrightthroughasIsay,“Ohwell,guessI’llgoitalonethen.”

ChapterFourteen

I land on my butt. Crash-land smack dab in front of the replica of that beautiful eighteenth-century

palacewhereFrenchroyaltylived.ButIdon’tgoinside.EventhoughIbeggedtocometothisveryplace,
Ican’tbeartoenterwithoutDamen.It’sourplace.Aplaceweshare.Aplacewheresomeofmyfondest
memorieslive.Andthere’snowayI’llgotherewithouthim.

Igettomyfeetandbrushmyselfoff,glancingaroundasItrytogetmybearingsanddeterminemy

whereabouts.KnowingIcouldjustimagineadestinationandfindmyselfmagicallythere,butI’drather
walk, stroll at my leisure and take my sweet time. Enjoy the fact that I’m freed from the beast—even
though it’s probably just coiled up somewhere, just biding its time ’til I leave. But for now I’m
determinedtoenjoysomerelief.

Iraisemyhandsbeforeme,wavingthemthroughtheshimmeringmist,thehazyglowthatoriginates

fromeverywhereandnowhere.Soothedbythecomfortablycoolairthatwaftsovermyskin,trustingI’ll
eventuallyendupsomewheregreat—somewhereIreallywanttobe.That’sthebeautyofSummerland—
allroadsleadtogood.

Stoppingtopausebytherainbow-coloredstreamthatcutsthroughthevastfragrantfield,Iquickly

manifestasmallhandheldmirrortocheckoutmyappearance.Relievedtoseemyeyesnowreturnedto
theirnormalbrightblue,myhairbacktoashining,lustrousshadeoflightgoldenblond,andmyskin—my
skinisvirtuallyporelessandclear,whilethecirclesthatlivedundermyeyesarenowgone.AndIwish
Damencouldseemelikethis—lookingliketheoldme—themeIusedtobe.Saddenedtothinkhislast
memoryisofthatmonstrouscreation—thebeastofmymaking.Ifhe’donlyagreedtocome,Icould’ve
explainedeverything.

Iwanderthroughthefieldofshiveringtreesandpulsatingflowers,thescentofthosevibrantpetals

following me until I stumble upon the familiar paved road that leads into town and the Great Halls of
Learning,whereIdecidetotrymyluckonceagain.AndeventhoughitwasnohelpatallthelasttimeI
wasthere,it’sanewday,anew,regeneratedme,andI’vegoteveryreasontobelievethistimewillbe
different.

Imakemywaypastacollectionoftrendyboutiques,amovietheater,andahairsalon,crossingthe

streetjustinfrontoftheartgallery,andpassingaguyhawkingcandles,flowers,andsmallwoodentoys,
as I make my way through mobs of people all going about their business, an interesting mixture of the
livinganddead.Turningontotheemptyalleywaythatleadstothequietboulevardthatbringsmetothe
steepswathofstairsIquicklyscale.Mygazefixedonthoseimpressivefrontdoors,knowingthere’sstill
onemorestepthatmustbecompleted.

IstandbeforetheGreatHalls,takinginitselaboratecarvings,imposingcolumns,andgrandsloping

roof—gazinguponatempleconstructedpurelyoflove,knowledge,andeverythinggood.Anticipatingthe
usualflicker of images,the Parthenon morphinginto the Taj Mahalinto the LotusTemple into the great
pyramids of Giza and so on—all the world’s most beautiful and sacred places seamlessly blending,
reshaping,andreformingfromonetothenext—butitdoesn’tcome.Idon’tseeanything.Nothingbutthe
impressivemarblebuildingthatstandsproudbeforeme—theimagesrequiredforentry,invisibletome.

I’mblacklisted.
Condemned.
BarredfromenteringtheoneandonlyplacethatcanhelpmefixthismessthatI’min.
EvenafterItrytofakeit,forcingmyselftoreplaytheimagesintheorderIrememberthem,itwon’t

budge.TheGreatHallsofLearningwillnotbefooledbythelowlylikesofme.

Isinkontothestepsanddropmyheadinmyhands,hardlybelievingwhatI’vebecome,justhowlow

I’vesunk.Wonderingifthisiswhatrockbottomfeelslike,surelybeingaSummerlandrejectisasbadas
itgets.

“Scuseme!”
Iscoottothesideandpullmylegsin,wonderingwhyMs.BossyBootscan’tjustmovearoundme.I

mean,seriously,Imaybefiveeight,butit’snotlikeI’mtakingupallthatmuchspace.

Myfacestillhiddenbythepalmsofmyhands,notwantingtobeseenbysomesuperiorSummerland

interloperwhohasaccesstoallthegreatestbuildings,when:

“Wait—Ever?”
Ifreeze.Iknowthatvoice.Knowitalltoowell.
“Ever—isthatreallyyou?”
Iliftmyheadslowly,reluctanttomeetAva’sgaze.Themeresightofherthickauburnhairandlarge

brown eyes stirring something—something on the periphery that I can’t quite grasp—can’t quite make
senseof.Butit’snotlikeitmatters,becausethetruthis,she’sprettymuchthelastpersonIwantedtosee
today,oranyotherdayforthatmatter.Butstill,whyhere,whynow,haven’tIbeenpunishedenough?

“Tryingtoconyourwayin?”Iask,voicedrippingwithsarcasmasIharshlylookherover.Realizing

justafterit’soutthatthat’sprettymuchwhatIwasjusttryingtodoafewmomentsearlier,andhorrifiedto
realizethatI’vesunksolowI’mnowequalwithher.

Shekneelsdownbesideme,headtilted,regardingmecloselywhenshesays,“Areyouokay?”Her

gazemovingovermecarefully,intently,almostasthoughshereallydoescare.

ButIknowbetter.Avaonlycaresforoneperson—andthat’sAva.Asfarasshe’sconcerned,noone

elseisworththebother.SheprovedthatwhensheleftDamentodiejustafterpromisingmeshe’dhelp
him.

Ilookherover,surprisedtoseehowshedoesn’tlooksodifferentthanshedidbeforesheranoff

withtheelixir,butthenagain,shewasstartingfromaprettygoodplace,somaybeshedidn’trequireall
thatbigachange.

“AmIokay?”Imimic,nailinghersugary-sweet,oh-so-concernedtone.SmirkingwhenIadd,“Well,

IsupposeIam.IsupposeI’mjustreallyandtrulyokay.Allthingsconsideredanyway.ThoughI’msure
I’mnotnearasokayasyou.”Ishrug.“Butthenagain,whois?”

Myeyestraveltoherneck,insearchofatelltaleOuroborostattooorsomeothersignofhernew

status as an immortal rogue. Surprised to see that not only is she free of all markings but also that her
usual tangle of flashy, manifested jewelry has been pared down to a single, raw citrine hanging from a
simple silver chain. Squinting as I struggle to recall what I’ve learned about that particular stone—
something about it promoting abundance and joy and—oh yes, protecting all seven chakras—well, no

wondershe’swearingit.

Ipressmylipstogetherandheaveanaudiblesigh,shootingheralookthatleavesnoroomfordoubt

about just how I feel about her. “I mean, now that you’ve got the whole world at your feet—no one’s
doingbetterthanyou,right?Sotellme,Ava,howdoesitfeel?Howdoesitfeeltobethenew,improved
you?Wasitworthbetrayingyourfriendsfor?”

She looks at me, eyes pulled down at the corners, concern clouding her face. “You’ve got it all

wrong,”shesays.“It’snotatallwhatyouthink!”

Irisetomyfeet,feelingshaky,off,butdoingmybesttohideitfromher.Determinedtoleaveher

behind,unwillingtohearanymorelies.

“Ididn’ttaketheelixir,Ever—I—”
Iturn,eyesflashingwithangerwhenIsay,“You’reunbelievable!Ofcourseyoutooktheelixir!Hel-

lo,Icameback.See?”ItugonmyT-shirtandshakemyhead.“Asitturnsout,Ava,nothingwentaswe’d
planned.No—correction,itmaynothavegoneasIplanned,butitcertainlywentasyouplanned.Youleft
Damen alone, weak and defenseless, just as you’d planned all along. You left him just lying there,
vulnerable,dying,rightwhereRomancouldgettohim.Andthen,asifthatwasn’tenough,youpairedup
again that night with Haven, brewed a nice cup of belladonna tea for her to drink.” I shake my head,
wonderingwhyI’mevenbotheringwiththis,botheringwithher.She’stakenenoughfrommealready.I
shouldn’tgiveheranymore.

Iheaddownthestairs,legsheavy,leaden,asthoughthey’rereluctanttocooperatewiththesignals

mybrainclearlysends.

Struggling to place one foot before the other when she says, “I wish you wouldn’t do that. I wish

you’dgivemeachancetoexplain.”

ButIjustshrugitoffandcontinueonmyway,callingovermyshoulderwhenIsay,“Yeah,well,you

can’talwaysgetwhatyouwant—yourememberthatsong,right?”

Shestandsbehindme,soquietandstillIcan’thelpbutglanceovermyshouldertoseewhatshe’sup

to. My muscles tensed and poised just in case she’s planning to attack, and surprised to find her with
palmspressedtogether,bowingbeforemeasherlipsmoveinawhispered“Namaste.”

Pausing briefly before turning toward the building, leaving me gaping, speechless, as those grand,

imposingdoorsopenbeforeherandwelcomeherin.

ChapterFifteen

“Hey.”
Ilookup,surprisedtoseeJudestandingbeforeme,soengrossedinmyworkIdidn’tevenhearhim

comein.

“Howdoyoudothat?”Isquint,takinginhisaura,nowbeaminganiceshadeofblue.
“Dowhat?”Heleansagainstthecounterandlooksmeover.
“Alwaysmanagetosneakuponmelikethat?”Mygazerestsonhisblacktee,curioustoseewho’s

beingfeaturedtoday.“What’sthat?”Imotiontowardit.

He closes his eyes and lifts his hands before him, attempting to draw his index fingers toward his

thumbs but not getting very far before he gives up and chants, “Ommmmmmm,” the sound coming from
deepwithin his diaphragm.Peeking at mewhen he adds, “It’sthe sound ofexistence—the sound of the
universe.”

Iscrunchmynose,havingnoideawhathe’sgettingat.
“Theuniverseismadeupofvibrating,pulsatingenergy,right?”
Inod.“SoI’vebeentold.”
“Okay, so Om is thought to be the sound of that energy—that vast, cosmic energy. You’ve never

heardthatbefore?Don’tyoumeditate?”

Ishrug.Iusedtomeditate.Usedtocleansemyaura.Pretendrootsweregrowingfromthesolesof

myfeetdeepintothecenteroftheearthandallsortsoffeel-goodnonsenselikethat.Butnotanymore.I
mean, it’s not like I have time to sit around observing my breath when my entire world is collapsing
aroundme.

“Youreallyshouldgetbackintoit,youknow.Itreallyhelpstobalanceandheal,nottomentionhow

it—”

“Andisithealingyou?”Ilookpointedlyathisarms,stilldebatingwhetherornottoactontheideaI

hadtheothernight,addinguptheprosandconsandstillnotcominganyclosertoadecision.

“Got a doctor appointment a bit later, so I guess we’ll find out.” He shrugs, eyes roving over me

whenheadds,“Andspeakingof—”Ourgazemeets.“Iwaswonderingifyoucouldgivemealift.Icould
takethebus,butthenI’llhavetocutclassalittleshortandIprefernottodothat,youknow?”

“Class?”Ilookathim,drawingablank.
“Yeah, you know, Psychic Development 101 with an emphasis on self-empowerment and Wicca—

surelyyouremember?”Helaughs.

I nod, rising from the stool, gladly giving it over to him. “How’s that going, anyway?” I make my

wayaroundthecountersothathecantakemyplace.

“Okay.”Henods.“YourfriendHonorseemstohavearealknackforit.”
Istop.Stopeverything.He’sgotmyfullattentionnow.“Honor?”
Heshrugs.“Yeah,youknow.Ithoughtyouguyswerefriends?”
Ishakemyhead,rememberingwhatIobservedonthelastdayofschool,andtheplansHonorhasfor

a major Stacia coup. “We’re classmates.” I shrug, pressing against the wall and allowing him to pass.
“Notreallyfriends.Trustme,there’sadifference.”

Hestops—stopswhenheshouldkeepmoving.Stopsinawaythatpracticallypinshimagainstme.

His eyes searching my face in a way that never fails to send an immediate flood of calm through my
system—the first calm I’ve felt in—days. Not since before I left Summerland. After Summerland, all I
couldthinkaboutwasAvaandhowshemanagedtoconherwayin.Andeventhoughitonlylastsafew
seconds, even though he soon moves past me and onto the stool, the impact, the calming charge of his
presencestilllingers.

“She’s either applying herself in a really big way or she’s got a real knack for magick,” he says,

grabbing the box of receipts with two of his good fingers and awkwardly flipping through it. “Seems
prettysingle-mindedthough,somyguessistheformer.”

Isquint,tryingtorecallwhatIknowaboutHonor,butotherthanherpositionasCraig’sgirlfriend

andStacia’sdisgruntledBFF,it’snotmuch.

IlookatJude,wonderingifIshouldtellhimthatfromwhatIsawthatdaywhenIpeekedinsideher

headthatHonor’sintentionsaren’tallthat—honorable.Butit’snotlikeStacia’severdoneme(oranyone
elseforthatmatter)anyfavors,sowhoamItogetinvolved?

“So,whattimedoesclassstart?”Iask,decidingtosticktothepracticalasImakemywaytoward

thebackroom.

“Inanhour.Why?”Heglancesoverhisshoulder.
“I’llbeinthebackuntilyouneedme,”Isay,slinkingintotheofficeandshuttingthedoorbehindme.

RetrievingTheBookfromitshidingplaceandslappingitontotheoldwooddesk.Takingamomentfora
few deep, cleansing breaths before I hunch over it, tracing my fingers across the elaborate gold
inscriptiononitsfront,debatingwhetherornotIshoulddothis.

The last time I visited this tome, things didn’t go so well. And now that I know about Roman’s

connectiontoit—well,I’mnolongersureIcantrustit.Becauseifhereallyisresponsibleforitending
upinmyhands,thenmyreadingitnowwouldonlymakeme(yetagain!)apawninhisplans.Butthen,if
hedoeshaveinfluenceoverthesepages,thenmaybethere’saclueburiedsomewhere,aclueastohow
thisgameendsorhowheplanstowin.

Maybe,justliketheakashicrecordsinSummerland,it’sallaboutaskingtherightkindofquestions.
Butwhiletheakashicrecordspermitsonlytheworthywithinitsgrandhalls,TheBookofShadows

onlyrequiresacode,followedbyacodedquestion,preferablyinrhyme.

SoaftersoftlychantingtherhymeRomyandRaynetaughtme:

Withintheworldofmagick—residesthisverytome

TowhichIamthechosen—returningtomyhome

Withintherealmofmystics—Ishallnowreside

Allowedtoglimpseuponthisbook—andseewhatliesinside.

Isitthere,feverishlytryingtocomeupwithacleverrhymingquestiontocrackRoman’scode—but

mymindremainsblankandTheBookjustsitsthere,itspagesrefusingtorevealanythingnew.

Isighandleanbackinmyseat,swivelingfromsidetosideasItakeintheroom,thevariouspictures

andtotemsthatlinethewalls,themyriadbookspiledontotheshelves,aroomoverflowingwithsomuch
potential,holdingallthenecessaryingredientsforallmannerofmagicalspells,andyetnoneofitinspires
me,noneofitoffersanykindofhelp.Andthetruthis,there’snomoretimetowaste.Summerisfading
fastandIneedtocomeupwithasolutionsincethere’snowayIcankeepavoidingDamen.

Damen.
Ipressmyhandstomyface,determinedtokeepthetearsatbay.Forcingthatsaltystingbackdown

mythroat.

I haven’t seen him since the day of Miles’s party when I jumped out of his car and went to

Summerland. Haven’t answered his calls. Haven’t answered the door. Have barely acknowledged the
numerousbouquetsofredtulipsthatnowfillupmyroom.KnowingIdon’tdeservethem—don’tdeserve
him—untilIcanfindawaytoworkthisallout—findawaytoaskforhishelp—orevenfindawaytoask
Judetoaskhim.ButeverytimeIstart,thebeastinterferes—refusingtoallowanythingtocomebetween
Romanandme.Andthetruthis,IknowI’mnotjustrunningoutoftimebutrunningoutofplacestolook.
Jude’ssearchhasresultedinnothing,andeverythingI’vetriedsofarhasresultedinacompleteandutter
failure.Andiflastnightisanyindication,it’sonlygettingworse.

I opened my eyes to a darkened room, the thick coastal fog refusing even the vaguest sliver of

moonlighttocreepthrough.Butstill,Islippedoutofbedandoutofthehouse,myfeetbare,cladonlyina
sheercottonnightgown,withonlyonedestinationinmind.DrawntoRoman’shouselikeasleepwalker—
likeoneofDracula’sovereagerbrides.

Movingquickly,effortlessly,throughthequiet,emptystreets,stoppingjustoutsidehiswindow,asI

croucheddownlowandpeeredthroughthegapinhisblinds.Immediatelysensingherpresence,knowing
shewasinthere—somewhere—enjoyingtheonethingthatismeanttobemine.

My mind spinning, reeling, as my body ached with unsatisfied hunger and need. The beast raging

inside me, urging me to stop thinking and get moving—just break down the door and eliminate her
already. And I was just about to do it, just about to make a move, when she sensed me too. Storming
towardthewindowwithagazesohardened,somenacing,itwasabriefslapofsanity—areminderof
whoIam—whosheis—andwhatwestandtoloseifIallowthebeasttowin.

And before I had a chance to rethink it, I ran. All the way home and back to my bed, where I lay

sweating,shaking,doingmybesttoquelltheoverwhelmingneed—toextinguishthedarkflameinsideme.

Aflamethatburnsbrighter,hotter,strongereachday.
A fire so insatiable it’ll consume everything in its path—my small glimmer of sanity—my fragile

connectiontothefutureIwant—andanythingelsethatstandsbetweenRomanandme.

AndjustbeforeIfinallydriftedoff,Irealizedtheworstpartofall—bythetimeallthathappensI’ll

besofargone,Iwon’tevenrealizemyfall.

Jude enters the room and drops onto the seat—purposefully, meaningfully, clearly wanting to be

seen.

“How’ditgo?”Imumble,liftingmyheadfromthedeskwhereit’sbeenrestingforthelasthour.My

hands still shaking, legs still trembling, still fighting to suppress the overwhelming urge that’s come to
defineme.

“Icouldaskyouthesamething.”Heeyesmeslowly.“Anyprogress?”
I shrug. Actually, I shrug and groan. Which, as far as I’m concerned, should be answer enough.

Carefultokeepmyhandsinmylap,outofhisview,sohecan’tseethemtremble.

“Stilltryingtocrackthecode?”
Iglanceathimbriefly,thenclosemyeyesandshakemyhead.I’vegivenuponthebook.Asfaras

I’mconcerned,it’sonlymadethingsworse.

“Ihaven’tbeenabletofindanythingeither,butstill.I’mhappytotakeanothercrackatitifyoustill

wantmyhelp.”

Inaword—yes.Idowanthishelp.I’lltakeallthehelpIcanget.Butwiththebeastnowtakingover,

thewordsjustwon’tcome.Mythroatgrowingsohotandtightonlysilencewillsootheit.

“Isitarhymingthing?”heasks,refusingtoletitgo.
Ishakemyhead,stillunabletospeak.
Buthejustshrugs,nottheleastbitdauntedbymyrefusaltoplay.“I’mprettygoodatchantsifIdo

saysomyself—prettygoodatrappingtooforthatmatter—wannahearone?”

Iclosemyeyes,wishinghe’dmoveon.
“Wisedecision.”Hesmiles,oblivioustowhatI’mgoingthrough.Pretendingtowipetheimaginary

sweat from his brow with his heavily bandaged hand, which only reminds me of that ride he asked me
about.

Irise,expectinghimtofollow,buthejustcontinuestositthere,staringatmeinawaysointense,so

insistentIcan’thelpbutcroak,“What?Whatisit?IsRileyhere?”

He shakes his head, swinging his dreadlocks off his shoulders and onto his back as those brilliant

blue-greeneyespulldownatthesides.“Haven’tseenherinawhile,”hesays,headtilted,gazefocused
on mine. “I admit, I try from time to time, but I always come up empty.” He shrugs. “I guess she just
doesn’twanttobereachedrightnow.”

I scrunch my brow, not sure I agree. Riley’s sent me enough cryptic messages lately to make me

highlydoubtthat,tomakemefeellikeshedoeswanttobereached.

“Doyouthinkthatmaybe—”Ipause,notwantingtosoundridiculous,butthendecidingnottocare.

I’vealreadylookedplentyridiculousinfrontofJude,sowhat’sonemoretime?“Doyouthinkthatmaybe
it’snotthatshedoesn’twanttocomethroughbutthatshecan’tcomethrough?”Helooksatme,aboutto
speakwhenIliftmyfingerandsay,“AndIdon’tmeancan’tasinnotableorcan’tfindawaytomanage
it, but more like, I don’t know, like, maybe she’s not allowed to come through? Maybe someone or
somethingisstoppingher?”

“Couldbe.”Heshrugs,hisshouldersrisingandfallingsocasually,soeasilyI’mnotsureifhereally

doesagreeorifhe’sjusthumoringme.Wantingtosparemyfeelingsfromthecold,hard,unavoidablefact
thatmyghostlylittlesisterhasgivenuponme—thatshe’stoobusywithherafterlifeactivitiestocome
outandplay.“Hassheshownupinanymoredreams?”headds,voicemorethaninquisitive,borderingon
hopeful.

“No,”Isay,withoutahintofhesitation,notwantingtothinkaboutthatdisturbingdreamthatIhad

whereDamenwastrappedbehindglassandRileystoodofftotheside,urgingmetopayattention,tonot
lookaway.

“Wannatrytoreachhernow?”Helooksatme,headcockedtotheside.
ButIjustshakemyheadandsigh.Imean,sureI’dliketoreachher—I’dlikethatverymuch.Who

wouldn’twantavisitfromtheiradorablyfeisty,deadlittlesister?ButwhenIthinkaboutthestatethatI’m
in,there’snowayIcandoit.Evenifshecouldhelpinsomeway,whichIseriouslydoubt,butstill,even
ifshecould,Ican’tstandforhertoseemelikethis.Idon’twanthertoknowwhatI’vedone.WhatI’ve
become.

“I’m—I’mnotreallyupforallthatrightnow,”Isay,clearingmythroat.
Jude leans back in his chair, foot propped on his knee, gaze unrelenting, never once straying from

mine.“Whatexactlyare you up for?” he asks, forehead scrunched as though he’s truly concerned. “All
youseemtodothesedaysiswork.”Hedropshisfootonthefloorandleanstowardme,anchoringhis
bandagedarmsonthedeskwhenheadds,“Doyouevenrealizeit’ssummeroutthere?SummerinLaguna
Beach!Halfthepopulationdreamsofasweetgiglikethatandyou’vebarelytakennotice.Believeme,if
I weren’t so banged up, I’d be out there surfing and enjoying every spare moment I could get. Not to
mention,andcorrectmeifI’mwrong,butisn’tthisyourfirstsummerhere?”

Itakeadeepbreath,rememberinghowlastsummerfoundmeinjured,hospitalized,newlyorphaned,

and burdened with psychic powers I couldn’t bear, naively thinking that’s as bad and weird as things
couldeverpossiblyget.Hardlyabletobelieveit’salreadybeenayearsincemyentirelifechanged.

“Icanhandlethestore.Hell,Icanevengetmyselftothedoctor,whocaresifI’mlate?Butplease,

doyourselfafavorandtakeabreak.There’sawholeworldouttherejustwaitingtobeexploredandwith
allthetimeyouspendhereindoors—well,it’snothealthy.”

Istandbeforehim,amessofshakinghands,tremblingbody,andraggedbreath—awalkingbillboard

forunhealthyliving,desperatelyscopingtheroomforthefirstavailableexit.

“Ever?Youokay?”Heleanstowardme.
Ishakemyhead,unabletoanswer,unabletospeak.Romanisoutthere.Icanfeelhimdrawingnear.

Havingjustleftthestoreandwanderingthevillagestreets,headedrightinmyvicinity.AndIknowit’s
just a matter of time, maybe another minute, two at the most, and the old me will be gone, completely
succumbedtothemonsterwithin.

Igriptheedgeofthedesk,knucklesprotruding,bonyandwhite,fightingtosteadymyself,horrified

atbeingseenlikethis,andneedingtogetawaybeforeit’stoolate—

SlippingaroundthedesksoquicklyI’matJude’ssidewellbeforehecanblink.Myfingersclutching

thegrayingwhiteplasterthatcircleshisarm,havingnochoicebuttosay,“Ifyouwantmetotakeyou,we
needtogonow—itcan’twait!”

Hestrugglestostand,aworriedexpressionmarringhisfaceashelooksmeoverandsays,“Ever,no

offense,butI’mnotsureIwanttogetinthecarwithyou.Youseemalittle—unhinged—tosaytheleast.”
Herubshislipstogetherandshakeshishead,levelingthosesea-greeneyesrightonmineinanattemptto
connect,butit’snouse.I’mlost,drowning,almostgone—“Seriously,Ithinkyoushouldstepoutside,get
somefreshair,andtakesomedeepbreaths—really,you’llbeamazedhowmuchbetteryou’llfeel.”

Andasniceasthatsounds,aswell-meaningasheis,Iknowbetter.OutsideisthelastplaceIshould

be. That’s where Roman is, drawing closer, closer by the second. Besides, that wasn’t exactly what I
meant when I said we should go. And even though I haven’t really stopped to think it through, haven’t
reallyconsideredthefulllistofprosandconssinceIfirstgottheideaafewdaysago,there’snotimeto
waste,we’regoing,thetwoofus,becausenomatterwhathappensthere,stayingherewillbeworse.

Withmyheartcrashing,mypulsethrumming,andRomandrawinginsistentlynear—IgripJude’scast

tighter,hopingagainsthopeIcanstillpullthisoffnowthateverythingelsehasfailedme.

HopingIcanstillreachtheoneandonlyplacewhereI’mstillme.
Takinginhisalarmed,perplexedgazeandknowingifIdon’tdothisquick,it’llbetoolateforme.
Toolateforallofus.
I’llbewithRoman.
Thedarkmagickwillwin.
VoiceshakyandunsteadyasIsay,“Iknowthissoundscrazy,butIneedyoutocloseyoureyesand

imagineaportalofshimmeringgoldlightrightbeforeyou.Concentratewithallyourmight,anddon’task
anyquestions.Justtrustmeonthis.”

ChapterSixteen

Westumblethroughtheportal,thetwoofus,sidebyside,landingonthatwonderfullybuoyantgrass

before springing lightly to our feet. And the first thing I do is turn toward Jude, motioning to his arms
whenIsay,“Look!”

He gazes down, eyes going wide as he glances between his bare arms and me, not quite

comprehending.

“SurelyduringthecourseofyourmetaphysicalstudiesyoucameacrossamentionofSummerland?”

Ismile,myfaceandshoulderslifting—everythinglifting—freedfromthemonsterwithinme—nomatter
howtemporary.

He glances around, peering through the hazy, shimmering mist at the shivering trees, branches

hanging heavy with ripe juicy fruit, the large colorful flowers with pulsating petals, and the quickly
flowing rainbow-colored stream just beyond. “This is it?” he asks, face stamped with awe. “It really
exists?”

Inod,anyapprehensionIhadatbringinghimheresuddenlygone.Justbecauseitwasabadideato

drag Ava along, doesn’t mean the same thing will happen with Jude. They’re totally different. He’s
different.WaymoreevolvedthanAvacouldeverhopetobe.

“WhydidIbringyouhere?”Ilaugh,instantlyreadingthequestionheposedbuthadn’tyetvoiced.

SendingtheanswertelepathicallywhenIthink:Inordertohealyou,ofcourse!

Carefultoedittheother,morepressingreason,whichissothatIcouldhealmyself.
Thoughtsareenergy,Iadd,seeingthesurprisedlookonhisface.Youcansensethem,hearthem,

even create with them. But if you’d rather we return to the hospital, then I’ll be happy to make the
portalagain—

Helooksatme,abouttospeakwhenhechangeshismindandthinksitinstead.Atfirstclosinghis

eyesasthoughtryingtoconcentrate,butsoonrealizingjusthoweffortlessandeasyeverythingis,helooks
rightatmeandallowsthewordstoflowstraighttomyhead:

Ican’tbelieveyouwaitedthislongtobringmehere.Ican’tbelieveyouletmesufferlikethat!
Ilaugh,noddinginagreementandknowingthebestwaytomakeupforitistoshowhimjustwhat

elseispossiblehere.

“Closeyoureyes,”Isay,watchingasheobeyswithouthesitation,histrustinmesocomplete,Ican’t

helpbutflush.“Nowthinkofanythingyouwant—anythingatall—andmakesureyoureallydowantit,
becauseinaninstant,it’llbeyours—ready?

And I’ve barely had a chance to finish before I’m sitting on a pink sand beach, watching as he

paddlesoutinanoceancomprisedofthemostbeautifulbluewaterandsurfingaseriesofthemostperfect
waves.

“Did you see those barrels?” he calls, board tucked under his arm as he makes his way in.

“Amazing!YousureI’mnotdreaming?”

I smile, remembering my first trip to Summerland and how enchanted I was. And no matter how

many times I return, the magick of manifesting on such a grand scale never gets old. “It’s no dream.” I
smile, seeing the way his dreads drip trails of salt water clear down his chest and into the low-slung
waistband of his black and gray board shorts. Suddenly overcome by that calm languid feeling his
proximity brings, and quickly averting my gaze when I say, “Trust me, it’s much better than a dream.”
Thinkinghowlately,mostofmydreamshavebecomenightmares.

So,what’snext?Hedropshisboardonthesandandlooksatme.
I shrug. It’s your moment, so it’s really up to you. Whatever you want to try next is fine by me.

Tryingtoappearhelpful,supportive,whenthetruthis,thelongerhestays,thelongerIhaveanexcuseto
avoidtheearthplanewhereallofmytroubleslayinwait.

Hetakesadeepbreathandcloseshiseyes,makingtheboardandthebeachdisappearinfavorofthe

Indy500racetrack.Navigatingthecourseatneardeath-defyingspeedsasIsithighinthestands,egging
himon.AndjustwhenI’msureIcan’ttakeanothermonotonouslap,heswitchesthescenetoacharming
caféintheSydneyharbor,withafirst-classviewofthebridge,thewater,andtheoperahousebeyond.

RaisinghisglasstomineasIsay,“Ididn’tpegyouastheIndytype.”
Heshrugs.“I’mnot.Buthey,yougottatryitwhileyoucan,right?”
I take a sip of my soda, grimacing at its sweet flavor, having grown to prefer the bitterness of the

elixir.WatchingastheviewsuddenlychangesfromtheglisteningAustralianwaterstooneofwindmills,
tulips,andcanals—aviewthatcouldmeanonlyonething.

“Amsterdam?” The word quivers in my throat, reminding me of our shared history, back when he

wasBastiaandeKoolandIwashismuse.AndIcan’thelpbutwonderifhesomehowsensesittoo.Like
nowthatwe’rehere,thoselong-agomemoriesaresomehowrestored,eventhoughit’sneverworkedthat
wayforme.

Heshrugs,surprisedbymyreactionwhenhesays,“I’veneverbeen.Ithoughtitwouldbecool.But

ifyou’dratherImakesomethingelse—”

AndbeforeIcanobject,tellhimtoenjoythefantasyforaslongashelikes,I’msittinginagondola

inVenice,dressedinanelaboratepink-and-cream-coloredgown,atangleofjewelsatmyneck.Lounging
againstapileofredvelvetcushionsasIgazeuponthemagnificentbuildingsliningourroute,stealingthe
occasional glance at Jude, now dressed in the black pants, striped shirt, and straw hat of a traditional
Venetiangondolier,watchingashesteersusthroughthecalmandstillwaters.

“Hey,you’reprettygoodatthis.”Ilaugh,determinedtomovepastmyHollandfreakoutamoment

agoandontowherewearenow.Closingmyeyestoaddjusttheslightesttouchofabreeze—abreezethat
sendshishatscatteringstraightintothewater.

“Thisfeelssonatural,”hesays,instantlymanifestinganewhatontohisheadwithoutmissingabeat.

“Imust’vebeenoneoftheseguysinapastlife—onewholeftsomeunfinishedbusinessbehind.”Hestops
rowingandleansonhisoar.“Imean,ifwetrulyareborntocorrectthemistakesofourpastandmove
towardenlightenment,thenmaybe,once,averylongtimeago,Iwassteeringabeautifulfairmaidensuch
asyourselfandgotsodistractedbyherbeautyandcharmItippedthisthingoveranddrowned.”

“Whodrowned?”Iask,voiceedgy,farmoreseriousthanIintended.
“Me.”Hesighsdramatically,laughingasheadds,“Whatelseisnew?Themaiden,asitturnsout,

wasswiftlyrescuedbyatall,dark,andhandsomeyoungnoblemanofgreatpositionandwealth,who,as

these things so often go, just happened to possess a much bigger boat. And after quickly pulling her
aboard, he warmed her up and dried her off, hell, he probably even resuscitated her with perfectly
performed mouth-to-mouth, after which he showered her with not just his undivided attention but a
successionof gifts, onemore impressive thanthe next, until shefinally stopped playinghard to get and
agreedtomarryhim.Andyouknowhowitends,right?”

Ishakemyhead,throathotandtight,unabletospeak.Wellawarethatinhisconsciousmind,he’s

creatingaharmlessfairytale,butunabletoshakethefeelingthatthisparticulartalejustmightgoawhole
lotdeeperthanhethinks.

“Well,thetwoofthemenjoyedalong,luxurious,anddeliriouslyhappylife—untiltheybothdiedof

oldageandreincarnatedsotheycanhavethepleasureoffindingeachotheranddoingitalloveragain.”

“And the gondolier? What happened to him—you?” I ask, unsure if I really want to hear. “I mean

surelythere’sarewardforbringingtwosoulmatestogether?”

He shrugs, averting his gaze, back to rowing again. “The gondolier is destined to repeat the same

pathetic scene over and over again, always pining after what is clearly meant for someone else. Same
script,differenttimeandplace.Storyofmylife—orlivesasthecasemaybe.”

And even though he laughs, it’s not an invitation for me to join in. It’s solitary, uninviting, too

burdenedwithtruthtoleaveanyroomforhumor.Hislittlestoryveeringsounbelievablyclosetothetruth
ofhimandme,Ican’tevenspeak.

My gaze travels over him, wondering if I should tell him—about me—about us—but what good

woulditdo?MaybeDamenwasrightwhenhesaidwe’renotmeanttorememberourpastlives,thatlife
isnotmeanttobeanopen-booktest.Weallhaveourownkarma,ourownobstaclestoovercome,and
apparently,likeitornot,maybeI’moneofJude’s.

Iclearmythroat,decidingtoputanendtoallthisandgettothethirdreasonwecamehere.Theone

I hadn’t really thought about until now. Hoping it’ll benefit both of us, and praying I’m not making yet
anothercolossalmistakewhenIsay,“Whatdoyousayweditchthisplace?There’ssomethingelseIwant
youtosee.”

“Someplacebetterthanthis?”Heyankstheoaroutofthewaterandwavesitaround.
I nod, shutting my eyes briefly and quickly returning us to the vast fragrant field, where Jude’s

returnedtohisnormaloutfitoffadedjeans,Omsymboltee,andtheflip-flopshestartedin,andIditchmy
elaborate,corsetedgowninfavorofcutoffs,atanktop,andsandals,beforeleadinghimalongthestream,
over to the road, down the alleyway, and onto the boulevard where the Great Halls of Learning can be
found.

TurningtohimasIsay,“Ihaveaconfessiontomake.”
Helooksatme,splicedbrowraisedexpectantly.
“I—Ididn’tbringyouherejusttocureyou.”Hestops,lookingatmeinawaythatmakesmestop

too.Takingadeepbreath,knowingthisismychance,theonlyplaceI’lleverbeabletosayit,Isquaremy
shoulders,liftmychin,andsay,“Iactuallyneedyoutodosomething—somethingforme.”

“O-kay...”Hesquints,hiseyeskind,patient,waitingformetogettoit.
“Yousee—thethingis—”Itwistmycrystalhorseshoebraceletaroundandaround,hardlyableto

look him in the eye. “Well, lately, that magick I told you about—the spell—it’s gotten worse. It’s like,
everything’sfinewhenI’mhere,butbackontheearthplane—I’mprettymuchawreck.It’slikeadisease.
I’mconsumedwiththoughtsofRoman,andincaseyouhaven’tnoticedit’slikemyouterstateisstarting
toreflectmyinnerstate.I’mlosingweight,losingsleep,andthere’snogettingaroundit—backhome,on
theearthplane,Ilooklikecrap.ButeverytimeItrytoconfideinDamenoraskhimforhelp—heck,even
whenItrytoaskyoutoaskhimtohelp—it’slikethespelltakesover—thedarkmagick—orthebeastas

I’vecometothinkofit—won’tletmespeak.It’slikeitdoesn’twantanythingtocomebetweenRoman
andme.ButhereinSummerland,itcan’tstopme.It’stheonlyplacewhereI’mmyusualselfagain.And
so,Ithoughtthatmaybebybringingyouhere,youcould—”

“Sowhydon’tyoujustbringDamentoSummerlandthen?Idon’tgetit.”Hecockshisheadtothe

sideandtakesmein.

“Because he won’t come.” I sigh, gazing down at my feet. “He knows something’s wrong, knows

something’supwithme,buthethinksit’sbecauseI’maddictedtothisplaceor—orsomethinglikethat.
Anyway, he refuses to join me, and since I’m unable to tell him the truth, he’s standing firm, refuses to
budge.Andbecauseofit,well,let’sjustsayit’sbeenwaytoolongsinceI’veevenseenhim.”Iswallow
hard,wincingatthewaymyvoicejustcracked.

“Andso—wheredoIcomein?”Helooksatme.“YouwantmetobuzzbacktotheearthplanesoI

cantellDamen?”

“No,”Isay,shouldersliftingwhenIadd,“Oratleastnotyet.FirstI’mgoingtotakeyousomewhere,

andifyou’reabletogetinside—”Ilookathim,hopingagainsthopethathecan.“ThenIwantyoutoseek
helponmybehalf—findasolutiontomyproblem.AndIknowitsoundscrazy,buttrustmewhenIsay
thatallyouhavetodoisdesiretheanswerandit’llcome.I’ddoitmyselfifIcould—butI’m—I’m—no
longerwelcomeinthere.”

Helooksmeoverandnods,backtowalkingalongsidemewhenhesays,“Sowhereisthisplace?”

Hisexpressiontransformingtooneofaweashefollowsthetipofmypointingfingerallthewaytothat
beautiful,grandoldbuilding,whispering,“Soitistrue!”Hiseyeslightingupashetakesthesteepmarble
stairsinahandfulofleaps.

Leaving me to stand there, jaw dropped to my knees, as both doors spring open and sweep him

insidebeforeIcanblink.

Thesametwodoorsthatslamclosedonme.
Islumpontothesteps,lockedoutagain.WonderingjusthowlongI’llbeforcedtowaititout’tilhe’s

donedoing—well,whateveritisheplanstodointhere.Knowingitcouldbeaverylongtimesince,fora
newbieespecially,theGreatHallsofLearningarejusttoogoodtoresist.

Ijumptomyfeetandbrushmyselfoff,refusingtositoutsideliketheloserIam,decidingtolook

around a little, maybe do some exploring. I’m always so single-minded when I come here, I rarely, if
ever,takethetimetojustwander.

Knowing I can travel by whatever method I choose—subway, Vespa, heck, even astride a great

painted elephant since there’s really no limit to what you can do here—I choose to go on horseback
instead.Re-creatingamountsimilartooneIfirstrodewithDamen,backwhenheluredmehereforthe
veryfirsttime,onlythisone’samare.

Ihopontoherbackandsettleintothesaddle,runningmyhandoverhersilky,softmaneanddown

the side of her neck. Cooing softly into her ear as I give a gentle nudge in her gut and we set out on a
leisurely walk with no real destination in mind. Remembering what the twins once told me about
Summerland, that it’s built of desires. That in order to see something, do something, have something,
experiencesomething,orvisitsomething,youmustfirstdesireit.

Istopmymountbrieflyandshutmyeyes,attemptingtodesiretheanswersIseek.
But,asitturnsout,Summerlandissmarterthanthat,sonothingreallyhappensotherthanthefactthat

my horse grows bored and lets me know it by snorting, grunting, whisking her tail, and stomping the
groundwithherhooves.SoItakeadeepbreathandtrysomethingelse,thinkingoutofeverythinghere,
outofallthemovietheaters,thegalleries,thebeautysalons,thegreatandwonderfulbuildings,what’sthe
onethingIhaven’tyetseenthatIshould?

What’stheoneplaceIreallyneedtoknowabout?
AndbeforeIknowit,myhorsetakesoffatfullgallop—maneflying,tailswishing,earstuckedback

tightly,asIgripthereinsandhangonfordearlife.ThesceneryblurringandwhirringrightpastmeasI
duck down low and squint against the gale. Covering a great distance of unfamiliar land in a matter of
seconds,untilmyhorsestopssosuddenly,sounexpectedly,Ivaultrightoverherheadandintothemud.

Shewhinniesloudly,rearinguponherhindlegsbeforeslammingbackdownonallfours,grunting

andsnortingandbackingupslowly,asIstruggletomyfeet,slowly,carefully,notwantingtodoanything
suddenthatmightspookherevenmore.

Moreusedtodealingwithdogsthanhorses,Ilowermyvoice,keepingitfirmandsteadyasIpoint

myfingerandsay,“Stay.”

Shelooksatme,earspinnedback,clearlynotlikingmyplan.
Iswallowhard,swallowmyfear,whenIadd,“Don’tgo.Stayrightwhereyouare.”
KnowingshemaynotbemuchhelpifIwasthreatenedinanyrealway,butstillreluctanttobealone

inthisdank,creepyplace.

Igazedownatmyshorts,nowcoveredwithmud,andevenafterIclosemyeyesandtrytoreplace

them,trytocleanmyselfup,Iremainexactlythesame.Instantmanifestationdoesn’tworkintheseparts.

Itakeadeepbreathandfighttosteadymyself,aseagertoleaveasmyhorse,butknowingIwassent

hereforareason,thatthere’ssomethingI’mmeanttosee,Iresolvetostayjustalittlebitlonger.Squinting
atthescenerybeforeme,andnoticingthatinsteadoftheusual,soft,goldenradiance,theskyintheseparts
is all murky and gray. Instead of the shimmering mist that I’m used to, there’s a steady downpour that
leavesthegroundsomuddyandwetitseemsitneverletsup,butifthebarrenplantsandtreesareany
indication, appearing so cracked and dry it’s as though they haven’t been watered for years, it’s not
exactlyanourishingrain.

I take a step forward, determined to decipher the message, learn why I’m here, but when my foot

sinkssodeepthemudswallowsmeuptomyknees,Idecidetoletmyhorsetakethelead.Butnomatter
whatIcooinherear,whatcommandsIgive,sherefusestoexploreanyfurther.Shehasonedestinationin
mindandthat’sbacktowherewecamefrom,soIfinallygiveupandgiveherfullrein.

Glancingovermyshoulderasweleaveandrememberingwhatthetwinsoncesaid:
“Summerlandcontainsthepossibilityofallthings.”
AndwonderingifIsomehowstumbleduponitsotherside.

ChapterSeventeen

“Whathappenedtoyou?”
Isquint,havingnoideawhathe’sreferringtountilIfollowhispointingfingerallthewaydownto

mymud-splatteredlegsandtheflip-flopsthatusedtobeacute,metallicgoldbutarenowsocrustedwith
dirtthey’remorelikeablech-tingedbrowninstead.

Ifrown,instantlyswappingthemoutforanice,new,cleanversionoftheexactsamething,gladto

knowI’mbacktothemagicalsectionofSummerland,whichisfarmorepreferabletotheno-man’s-landI
visited earlier. Taking a moment to shrug on the soft lilac cardigan I also just manifested, wrapping it
tightlyaroundmeasIsay,“Igottiredofwaiting.Ididn’tknowhowlongyou’dbe,soIwentonalittle—
uh—fieldtrip.”Iliftmyshoulderslikeitwasnobigdeal,likeitwasjustyoureveryday,gardenvariety,
late afternoon stroll—when the truth is with that weird, relentless rain, those barren trees, my horse’s
determination to get the heck out of there, it was anything but. But Jude already has enough to process
withoutmyaddingaconfusingnewterritorytothemixandI’meagertofindoutwhathe’sseen.

“Butevenmoreimportantthanwhathappenedtomeiswhathappenedtoyou?”Ilookhimoverfrom

thetopofhisgoldenbrowndreadlockstotherubbersolesofhisflip-flops,noticinghowontheoutside
he’sprettymuchthesameasIlefthim,butinside,somethinghasdefinitelychanged.There’sashiftinhis
energy,hisdemeanor.Ontheonehand,heseemslighter,brighter,brimmingwithconfidence,yethealso
seemsdistinctlyedgyforsomeonewhojustvisitedoneofthegreatestwondersinalloftheuniverse.

“Well—it was—interesting.” He nods, his gaze meeting mine, but only for a moment before he

quicklyturnsaway.

AndIcan’tbelievehethinkshecangetawaywiththat.Imean,IthinkIdeservealittlemoreafter

havingbroughthimallthewayhere.

“Um,caretoelaborate?”Iarcmybrow.“Exactlyhow was it interesting? What did you see, hear,

learn?Whatdidyoudofromthemomentyouenteredtothemomentyouleft?DidyougettheanswersI
need?”KnowingI’msecondsawayfrompeeringintohismindtoseeformyselfifhedoesn’tspillsoon.

He takes a deep breath and turns, moving several paces away until he finally meets my gaze and

says,“I’mnotsureIreallywanttogetintoitjustyet—it’salottoprocess—Istillneedtomakesenseof
it.It’sallabit—complicated—”

Isquint,determinedtoseeformyself.ThereareveryfewsecretsinSummerland,especiallyfora

newbielikehimwhodoesn’thavethefirstclueastohowitallworks,butthesecondIrunupagainstthat
solidbrickwall,Iknowjustwherehe’sbeen.

Theakashicrecords.

RememberinghowRomyoncesaid:Notallthoughtscanberead,onlytheonesyou’repermitted

tosee.Whateveryouseeintheakashicrecordsisyoursandyourstokeep.

Inarrowmygaze,needingtoknownowmorethanever,movingtowardhim,justabouttopushabit

furtherwhenIfeelit—thatswarmofwarmth,oftingleandheathismerepresencebrings.Turningtofind
Damen,makinghiswaydownthosesteepmarblesteps,untilhestops—everythingstops—andoureyes
meet.

And I’m just about to call out to him—urge him to join me, knowing now’s my chance to explain

everything, when I see what he sees—me and Jude together, enjoying a nice trip to Summerland—
Damen’sandmyspecialplace.AndbeforeIcandoanything,sayanything—he’sgone.Justblinkedoutof
existenceasthoughhewasneverreallythere.

Excepthewas.
Hisenergylingers.Icanstillfeelhimonmyskin.
AndoneglanceatJudeisallittakestoconfirmit.Seeingthewayhiseyesgowide,thewayhislips

part—the way he reaches toward me, wanting to comfort, but I pull away quickly. Sickened by what
Damenmustthink—howwemust’veappearedtohiseyes.

“Youshouldgo,”Isay,mybackturnedtowardhim,myvoicecrispandtight.“Justcloseyoureyes,

maketheportal,andgo.Please.”

“Ever—”hesays,reachingformeagain,butI’malreadygone,movingontosomeotherplace.

ChapterEighteen

Iwalk.WalkuntilI’venoideahowfarI’vegone.WalkuntilI’msureDamencannolongerseeme.

Determinedtooutwalkmyproblemsbutnotgettingveryfar,finallyunderstandingthatoldadageonthe
coffeemugmyeighth-gradeEnglishteacherusedtohave:whereveryougo—thereyouare.

Youcan’toutwalkyourproblems.Canneverrunfastenoughtoevadethemcompletely.Thisismy

journey,andthere’sjustnoescapingit.

AndeventhoughSummerlandprovidessuchsweet,gloriousrelease—itseffectisonlytemporaryat

best.NomatterhowlongImanagetostayhere,I’mprettysurethingswilldoaone-eightythesecondI
returntotheearthplane.

Iwanderfarther,tryingtodecidebetweenstoppingbythetheatertocatchanoldmovie,ormaybe

even heading over to Paris to take a nice relaxing stroll along the River Seine, or even a quick hike
throughtheruinsofMachuPicchu,orarunthroughtheRomanColiseum,whenIcomeacrossasmattering
ofcottagesthatbringsmetoahalt.

The outside is plain, modest, consisting of wood shingles, small windows, and pointy, triangular

roofs—buteventhoughthere’sseeminglynothingspecialaboutanyofthem,there’soneinparticularthat
beckonstome,glowinginawaythatluresmedownthenarrowdirtpathuntilI’mstandingjustoutside
thedoor.HavingnoideawhyI’mherebutstilldebatingwhetherornotIshouldtrytogoin.

“Ain’tseen’emroundthesepartsferweeks.”
Iturntofindanoldmanpoisedattheedgeofthepath,dressedconservativelyinwhiteshirt,black

sweater,andblackpants,afewwispygrayhairsbrushedsidewaysoverhisshinybaldscalp,leaningon
an elaborately carved cane that seems to testify more to his love of its craftsmanship than any real
physicalneed.

Isquint,unsurewhattosay.Idon’tevenknowwhyI’mhere,muchlesswhomhe’sreferringto.
“Them two girls—the dark-haired ones. Twins they were. Could barely tell ’em apart meself—

thoughthemissushad’emdown.Theniceone—shelikedchocolate,andlotsofit.”Hechuckles,smiling
atthememory.“Andtheotherone—thequiet,stubbornone—shepreferredpopcorn,couldn’tgetenough
ofit.Butonlythestove-poppedkind,noneofthatinstantmanifestedstuff.”Henods,lookingatme,really
takingmein,nottheleastbitshockedbymymoderndressintheseparts.“Themissussheindulged’em,
shedid.Feltsorryfor’em,worriedabout’emagoodbittoo,I’dsay.Then,afterallthat,afterallthese
years,theyjustupandleavewithnaryaword.”Heshakeshisheadagain,butthistimehedoesn’tlaugh
orsmile,justgivesmeabewilderedlook,asthoughhopingIcanhelphimmakesenseofit.

I swallow hard, my gaze darting between the front door and him, pulse quickening, heart racing,

knowingwithoutasking,knowingdeepdowninsidethatthisiswheretheystayed—thisiswhereRomy
andRaynelivedforthelastthreehundredandsome-oddyears.

Butstillneedingaverbalconfirmation,justtomakesure,Isay,“Did—didyousaythetwins?” My

mindreeling,asItakeintheplainfamiliarcottage,anexactreplicaoftheoneIsawinthevisionthedayI
firstfoundthemsquattingatAva’swhenIgrabbedRomy’sarmandwatchedtheirentirelifestoryunfold
—allofitracingtowardmeinajumbleofpictures—thishouse—theiraunt—theSalemWitchTrialsshe
wasdeterminedtoshieldthemfrom—anditallledtothis.

“RomyandRayne.”Henods,lookingmeoverwithcheekssored,anosesobulbous,andeyesso

kindheseemsalmostmanifested,fake,alifelikereplicaofthequintessentialjollyoldEnglishmanonhis
wayhomefromthepub.Butsincehedoesn’twaverorfadeinandout,sinceheremainsrighttherebefore
mewiththatsamefriendlygrinonhisface,Iknowhe’sforreal.Maybeliving,maybedead—can’tbetoo
sureaboutthat,butdefinitely,positively,therealdeal.“Them’stheonesyou’slookingfor,yes?”

I nod, even though I’m not sure. Was I looking for them? Is that why I’m here? I glance at him,

wincingwhenhegivesmealooksooddIcan’thelpbutletoutanervousgiggle.Clearingmythroatand
attemptingtopullittogetherwhenIadd,“I’mjustsorrytohearthey’renotaround,IwashopingIcould
catchthem.”

Henods,nodsasthoughhecompletelyunderstandsandsympathizeswithmypredicament.Leaning

with both hands on his cane as he says, “The missus and me grew quite fond of ’em, seeing as we all
arrivedaroundthesametime.Whatwecan’tdecideisiftheyfinallydecidedtocrossthebridgeandbe
donewithit,orifthey’smadethetripback.Whatdoyouthink?”

Ipressmylipstogetherandshrug,notwantingtoletonthatIalreadyknowtheanswertothatone,

andrelievedwhenhedoesn’tpressfurther,justnodsandshrugstoo.

“Missus swears they crossed the bridge, said the little ’uns got tired of waiting for whomever’s

they’swaitingfor.ButIsaydifferent.Raynemight’vegone,butshe’dneverconvincethatsisterofhers,
thatRomy—she’sastubbornoneallright.”

Isquint,sureImisunderstood,shakingmyheadasIsay,“Wait—youmeanRayne’sthestubbornone,

right?Romy’sthekinder,gentlerone.”

Inod,expectinghimtonodtoo,buthejustgivesmethatsameoddlookanddigshiscanedeeperinto

thedirt.“MeantwhatIsaid,Idid.Well,gooddaytoyou,miss.”

I stand there, watching him walk away, head up, spine straight, cane swinging happily, hardly

believinghe’schosentoleaveitlikethatandwonderingifmyquestionsomehowoffendedhim.

Imean,heiskindofold,andthetwinsdolookexactlyalike,oratleasttheydidwhentheylived

hereandworethoseprivate-schooluniformseveryday,andIcanonlyimaginehowtheydressedbefore
Riley got ahold of them. But something about the way he said it, so sure, so confident, I can’t help but
wonderifI’vegotitallwrong.Orifthatmean,bratty,resentfulsideofRayneisreservedjustforme.

Hopinghecanhearmebeforehegetstoofaraway,Icall,“Sir—um,excuseme—butdoyouthink

it’sokayifIgoinandtakealook?IpromiseIwon’tdisturbanything.”

He turns, waving his cane jauntily as he says, “Help yourself. Ain’t nothin’ ’ere that can’t be

replaced.”

Heturns,continuingonhiswayasIpushthedoorinwardandstepinside,myfootmeetingasimple,

red,braidedrugthatsoftensthecreakofmyweightontheoldwoodenfloor.Pausinglongenoughformy
eyestoadjusttothedimlightasIpeerintoalargesquareroomdottedwithafewuncomfortable-looking,
straight-backed chairs, a medium-sized table, and a large wooden rocker beside a stone hearth full of
ashesfromafirethatwasrecentlyburned.KnowingI’vejustwalkedintoanexactreplicaoftheworld
Romy and Rayne both fled in 1692 only to re-create it right here—minus the hypocrisy, lies, and

unabashedcrueltyofcourse.

Imakemywaythroughtheroom,gazingupattheheavywoodbeamsliningtheceilingasmyfingers

trail along the plain, rough walls, the tables piled high with leather-bound books, along with an
assortment of candles and oil lamps used to provide reading light. Unable to shake this sneaky, guilty
feelingthatI’mpryingintosomething,peeringintoaprivatelifeI’mnotsureIshouldsee.

But,atthesametime,Iknowit’snoaccidentthatI’mhere,Iwasmeanttofindthis,ofthatI’veno

doubt. Because if nothing else, I know enough about Summerland to know that events are not at all
random. Somewhere in these walls is something I’m meant to see. And as I wander into a small, plain
bedroom I immediately recognize it as a replica of the bedroom of the aunt who raised them—the one
whourgedthemtohideouthereinSummerlandinordertosparethemfromtheSalemWitchTrials—the
ultimate source of her own gruesome demise. The bed is narrow, uncomfortable-looking, offset by a
small,squaretableholdingalargeleather-boundbookandsomedriedflowersandherbsrestingontop.
Andotherthananotherbraidedrugandatall,slimwardrobeinthecorner,itsdoorcrackedjustenoughto
glimpsethebrowncottondresshanginginside,therestoftheroomisleftbare.

AndIcan’thelpbutwonderifRomyandRayneevermanifestedherintoexistencelikeIoncedid

with Damen. Can’t help but wonder just how long they fought to hold on to their life as they knew it
beforefinallygivingup,andsettlingforthis—animitationofwhatwas.

I close the door behind me and head for the short ladder that leads to the loft, ducking my head

against the dramatically sloped ceiling and wincing as the wood groans loudly under my feet. Quickly
movingtoanareawheretheceilingriseshigher,Istraightenupandtakeinthenarrowtwinbeds,andthe
small wooden table between them holding a pile of books and a well-used oil lamp—pretty much the
same setup as their aunt’s—except for the walls that are littered with new millennium, pop-culture
referencesthatcouldonlybetheresultofRiley’sinfluence.Everysquareinchofspacecoveredwitha
collageofRiley’sfavorites,who,knowingRiley,thetwinshadnochoicebuttopledgetheirallegiance
to.

Myeyesdartaroundtheroom,surroundedbythehappy,shinyfacesofformerDisneystarsturned

teenagedtycoons,alineupofAmericanIdols,andjustaboutanyoneelsewhooncegracedthecoverof
Teen Beat magazine. And when I see the piece of notebook paper tacked to the door, I can’t help but
laugh, knowing this class schedule, this roster of their manifested boarding school events, could come
fromnooneotherthanmyghostlylittlesister.

1stperiod—FashionforBeginners:Do’s&Don’ts&Mustn’tEvers
2ndperiod—Hair101:Basicstylingtechniques,aprerequisitetoHair102
Break—10minutes:Tobeusedforgossip&grooming
3rd period—Celebrity Basics: Who’s hot, who’s not, and who’s not at all what they want you to
think
4thperiod—Popularity:Acomprehensivecourseonhowtogetit&keepitwithoutlosingyourself
intheprocess
Lunch—30minutes:Tobeusedforgossiping,grooming,andeatingifyoumust
5thperiod—Kiss&Makeup:Everythingyoueverwantedtoknowaboutlipglossbutwereafraidto
ask
6thperiod—Kissing101:What’sick,what’ssick,andwhatmakeshimtick

A full roster of Riley’s usual obsessions, the last of which I’m sure she never got a chance to

experimentwith.

And just as I’m about to leave, sure there’s nothing more to see, I spot a beautiful, round jeweled

frame,percheduphighonthearmoire,andIriseuponmytoestogetit.Knowingitcan’tbelongtoRomy
andRaynesincephotographywasn’teveninventeduntillongaftertheyleftSalem,andgaspingaudibly
whenItakeitallin,myeyessweepingoverapictureofus.

Me,Riley,andoursweetyellowLab,Buttercup.
Themeresightofitelicitingamemorysoclear,sopalpable,itslamslikeapunchinthegut.Forcing

medowntomykneesandontothefloor,payinglittlenoticeoftheroughwoodscratchingmyskin,paying
nomindtothetearsthatstreamdownmycheeksandontotheglass,leavingitstreaky,blurry,butI’mno
longerlookingatthepicture,I’mwatchingtheeventinmyhead.ReplayingthemomentwhenRileyandI
leanedallovereachother,smilingandlaughing,andhammingitupasButtercupbarkedexcitedlyandran
circlesaroundus.

Allofitjustmomentsbeforetheaccident.
Theverylastphotoevertakenofus.
AphotoI’dforgottenaboutsinceRileydiedlongbeforesheevergotachancetodownloadit.
Igazearoundtheroom,myvisionblurredbytears,myvoicetentative,squeaky,asIcall,“Riley?

Riley—areyou—watchingthis?”Wonderingifshe’shere,ifshesetthiswholethingup,ifshe’soffina
cornersomewhere,observingme.

Usingthehemofmysweatertowipefirstmyface,thentheglass,knowingthateventhoughshefails

torespond,eventhoughIcannolongeraccessher,thisisherdoing.Sherecreatedthispicture.Wanted
metohaveyetanotherreminderofwhatweoncesharedandwhoIoncewas,justoneyearbefore.

AndeventhoughI’mtemptedtotrytotakeitbacktoLaguna,IleaveitrightwhereIfounditinstead.

It’saSummerlandthing.It’llneversurvivethereturntriphome.Besides,forsomestrangereason,Ilike
knowingit’shere.

Imakemywaydowntheladderandbackthroughthegreatroom,sureI’veseenallIwasmeantto

andpreparingtoleave.AlmostatthefrontdoorwhenInoticeapaintingImissedonmywayin.Itsframe
simple, black, crudely crafted from a few strips of painted wood. But it’s the subject that grabs my
interest, a finely honed portrait of an attractive yet somewhat plain woman—or at least by today’s
standardsanyway.Herskinispale,herlipsarethin,andherdarkbrownhairisscrapedseverelyoffher
face, pulled back into what was probably a tightly coiled bun. But no matter how serious the pose, no
matterhowsterntheexpression,there’ssomethingmuchlightershininginhereyes,asthoughshe’smerely
playing the part of a proper, subdued woman of her time, posing this way for propriety’s sake, while
insidelurkedafirefewpeoplewould’veguessedat.

AndthelongerIstareintothoseeyes—themoresureIam.EventhoughItrytotalkmyselfoutofit,

convincemyselfit’snotpossible,notinthemostremoteway—thatsubliminalhintthat’sbeenedgingat
me,persistingoffandonforthelastseveralweeks,hasnowmanifestedbeforeme,inawaysoclear,so
startling,itcan’tbeignored.

Mywhisperedgasp,echoingthroughtheroombutheardonlybyme,asIfleeoutthedoorandback

totheearthplane.

Eager to get away from the face looming before me—away from a past that has just, remarkably,

comefullcircleagain.

ChapterNineteen

I don’t even think about it. Don’t even stop to think twice. I just make the portal, land back in the

earthplane,andheadforDamen’s.

Butthen,justasI’mpullinguptohisgate,Ithinkbetter.
Thetwinswillbethere.
Thetwinsarealwaysthere.
Andthisisdefinitelysomethingthatshouldn’tbediscussedintheirpresence.
ButsincethegatesarealreadyinmotionandSheilaishappilywavingmein,Idriverightthrough

andheadfortheparkinstead.Parkingmycaratthecurbandheadingstraightfortheswings,Isettleonto
thesmallbucketseatandpropelmyselfforwardwithsuchforce,IactuallywonderifI’llloopalltheway
aroundbeforecomingbackdown.ButIdon’t,Ijustswaybackandforth,enjoyingtherushofwindonmy
cheeksasIflyeverhigher,andtheslightdipinmybellywhenIcomecrashingbackdown.Closingmy
eyesandcallingDamentome—usingwhateverpowersIstillhavebeforethemonstercanawakenand
beginitsfavoritepastimeofsabotagingme.Addinguptheseconds,andnotevengettingtotenbeforehe’s
standingbeforeme.

Theairhaschanged,ignitedbyhispresence,hisgazesendingadeliciouswarmtingleovermyskin.

And when I open my eyes to meet his—it’s like the first time we met in the parking lot at school—
mesmerizing,magical,amomentofcompleteandtotalsurrender.Thesunathisback,envelopinghimina
blazeofboldorange,golds,andredssobrilliant,it’sasthoughthey’reemanatingfromhim.AndIholdon
tothemoment,holditforaslongasIcan.Alltooawarethatit’sjustamatteroftimebeforeitdullsandI
becomenumbtohimagain.

Hetakestheswingalongsideme,glidinghighintotheskyandinstantlymatchingmypace.Thetwo

of us swooping to such deliriously, wonderful heights, only to plummet right back down again—an
analogyofourrelationshipforthelastfourhundredyears.

Butwhenhegazesatmewithanexpectantlookonhisface,IknowI’mabouttodisappointhim.I’m

nothereforthereasonhethinks.

Itakeadeepbreath,speakingpastthelumpinmythroatwhenIsay,“Listen.”Iturntowardhim.“I

know things are kind of—strained—” I pause, knowing that hardly describes it but continuing anyway.
“But,well,afteryouleft,Icameacrosssomethingsoextraordinary,Irushedheretotellyou.Andifwe
canjustpushallthisotherstuffaside,atleastfornow,Ithinkyou’regonnawanttohearthis.”

Hecockshisheadanddrinksmein,hisgazesodeep,dark,andintenseithaltsthewordsrightinmy

throat.

Forcingmetogazedownattheground,markingaseriesofsmallcirclesintothedirtwithmytoe,

pushingthewordsfrommylipswhenIsay,“Iknowthis’llprobablysoundcrazy,socrazyyouprobably
won’tevenbelieveitatfirst—butI’mtellingyou—nomatterhowfar-fetcheditmayseem,it’stotallyand
completelyreal,Isawitformyself.”Ipause,sneakingapeekandseeinghimnodinthatencouragingyet
patientwaythathehas.ThenIclearmythroatandstartagain,wonderingwhyI’msonervouswhenhe’s
probably the only person I know who would truly understand. “So, you know how you always say the
eyes are the window to the soul and the mirror to the past and all that? And how you can recognize
someonefromyourpastlivessimplybylookingintotheireyes?”

He nods, unhurried, noncommittal, as though he’s got all the time in the world to see where this

leads.

“Anyway,mypointis—”Itakeadeepbreath,hopinghewon’tthinkI’manycrazierthanhealready

doeswhenIblurt,“Ava-is-Romy-and-Rayne’s-aunt!”Thewordsrushingoutofmesoquicklyitsounds
likeoneverylongword,ashejustcontinuestositthere,lookingascoolandcalmascanbe.

“RememberwhenItoldyouhowIhadthatvisionwhereIwatchedtheirlifeunfoldandIsawtheir

aunt?Well,ascrazyasitsounds,thatauntisnowAva.ShediedduringtheSalemWitchTrialsandcame
backinthislifeasAva.”Ishrug,notreallysurehowyoufollowupastatementlikethat.

Hislipscurveeversoslightlyashisgazelightens,pushinghisswingslowlybackandforthwhenhe

says,“Iknow.”

Isquint,unsureifIheardhimcorrectly.
Hemoves,veeringsocloseourkneesnearlytouch,lookingatmewhenhesays,“Avatoldme.”
Ijumpoutofmyswingsohardandfastthechainsslamtogetherandspininonthemselves—winding

allthewayupbeforedroppingbackdown,circlingaroundandaroundinafuryofmovementthatmakesa
horrible,dull,clankingsound.Mykneeswobbly,unsteady,asInarrowmygazeandslowlytakehimin—
wonderinghowthisguywhoclaimstolovemeforallofmylivescouldpossiblybefriendher,endanger
thetwins,andbetraymelikethat.

But he just looks at me without the slightest trace of concern. “Ever, please.” He shakes his head.

“It’snotwhatyouthink.”

Ipressmylipstogetherandavertmygaze,wonderingwhereI’veheardthatbefore.Ohright,Ava.

It’sprettymuchherfavorite,mostoft-repeatedphraseandIcan’tbelievehefellforit.

“Shesawitonavisittotheakashicrecords.Andtoday,whenIwasunabletofindawaytohelp

you,Iconfirmedit.She’sbeengettingherplaceready,tryingtofindtherighttimetotellthem,and,well,
eventhoughIbelievedher,Iwasn’treallysurewhatwouldtrulybebestforthem.Andso,today,whenI
askedforalittleguidance,whatthebestcourseforthemwouldbe,thestorywasrevealed.Infact,they’re
withherrightnow.”

“So,that’sitthen.”Ilookathim.“Ava’snolongerevil,she’sreunitedwiththetwins,andwegetour

livesback.”Itrytolaugh,butitdoesn’tcomeoutquitethewayIintended.

“Dowe?Getourlivesback?”Hecockshisheadtothesideandlooksatme.
Isigh,knowingI’venochoicebuttotrytoexplainit,it’stheleastIcando.
Idropontomyswing,fingerstwistingandloopingaroundthethickmetalchainsasIlookathimand

say,“Today—inSummerland—despitehowitlooked,itwasn’tatallwhatitseemed.AndIwasgoingto
explainit—explaineverythingthat’sbeenhappening—butwhenyoudisappearedsofastI—”Ipressmy
lipstogetherandlookaway.

“So, why not explain it now?” Damen says, eyeing me closely. “I’m right here. You have my full

attention.” His voice so stiff and formal, my entire heart breaks. Just crumbles into a million jagged
pieces as he sits there beside me, so handsome, so strong, so well-intentioned—wanting only to do the

rightthing,nomatterwhatitcostshim.

AndIwantsobadlytojustreachoutandhughimtightlytome,findawaytoexplainitaway.ButI

can’t,thewordsareheldhostagebythemonsterwithin,soinsteadIjustshrugandhearmyselfsay,“It—it
wastotallyandcompletelyinnocent.Seriously.Ididitforus—despitehowitlooked.”

Damenlooksatmewithsomuchpatienceandlove—Ican’thelpbutfeelguilty.“Sotellme,didyou

getwhatyousetoutfor?”heasks,thequestionsoloadedIcanonlyguessattherealintentionbehindit.

Ipause,tryingnottowinceunderhisdark,probinggaze,palmsslickwithsweatwhenIsay,“You

know how bad I’ve been feeling for attacking him and all—and so, I thought that if I took him to
Summerland,thenmaybehecouldbehealedand—”

“And—?” he prompts, voice laced with the patience of six hundred years, and I can’t help but

wonderifheevergetstiredofit—ofbeingsotolerant,solong-suffering—especiallywhenitcomesto
dealingwithme.

“And—”Itrytosayit,trytotellhimwhat’shappeningtome,butIcan’t.Thebeastisawake,the

darkmagick’stakinghold,andI’mbarelyhangingonasitis.Ishakemyhead,nervouslypickingatthe
fauxtortoiseshellbuttonsliningthefrontofmysweater,asIsay,“And—nothing.Seriously,that’sit.Ijust
hopeditwouldhealhim,andapparentlyitdid.”

Damen considers me, his face composed, relaxed, as though he completely understands. And the

thingis,hedoesunderstand.Heunderstandswaybeyondmyownfumblingwords.Heunderstandsalltoo
well.

“So,sincewewerealreadythere,IfiguredI’dshowhimaround,andthesecondhesawtheHall,

well,herushedinside—andtherest—astheysay—ishistory.”Mygazemeetshis,theironyoftheword
lostonneitherofus.

“Anddidyoujoinhim—intheHall?”Hiseyesnarrowtoslits,lookingatmeasthoughhealready

knows—knowsthatI’mnolongerwelcomethere—butwantstohearmesayit.Wantsthefullconfession
astojusthowdarkandtwistedI’vebecome.

I take a deep breath and casually push my hair off my face. “No, I just—” I pause, wondering if I

shouldtellhimaboutmytrailridetono-man’s-land,butquicklydecidingagainstit—wonderingifmaybe
whatIwitnessedwasmoreareflectionofme—myinnerstate—thananactualplace.“I,uh,Ijusthung
aroundandwaited.”Ishrug.“Imean,Igotalittleboredanddefinitelythoughtaboutleavingandall,butI
alsowantedtomakesurehecouldfindhiswayhome,soI—um—Ihungout.”Inod,alittletooforcefully,
inawaythat’snotevenclosetobeingconvincing.

Thetwoofusexchangingalong,painfullook,bothofusawarethatI’mlying—thatIjustgavewhat

isquitepossiblyoneofmyworstperformancesever.Andforsomestrange,unknownreason,hegrantsme
a shrug so final, so dismissive, I can’t help but feel disappointed. That small, sane, glimmer of me
wishinghe’dfindawaytocoaxitoutofme,sowecouldbedonewithallthis.Buthejustcontinuesto
look at me, until I turn away and say, “Nice to know you’ll still visit Summerland on your own, even
thoughyourefusetogotherewithme.”Knowinghedoesn’tdeservethat,butstill,thereitis.

Hegrabsholdofmyswingandpullsmetohim,jawclenched,fingerssqueezingthechain,words

comingfrombetweengrittedteethwhenhesays,“Ever,Ididn’tgothereforme—Iwentthereforyou.”

Iswallowhard,andasmuchasIwanttolookaway,Ican’t,mygazeislockedonhis.
“Itriedtofindawaytoreachyou—tohelpyou.You’vebeensodistant—notatalllikeyourself,and

it’sbeendayssincewe’vespentanyrealtimetogether.It’sprettyclearyou’redoingyourbesttoavoid
me,youneverwanttobewithmeanymore,atleastnothereontheearthplane.”

“That’snottrue!”Thewordscomeouttoohigh-pitchedandshakytoeverbebelieved,butIforge

ahead anyway. “I mean, apparently you haven’t noticed, but I’ve been working a lot lately. So far my

summer’s been spent shelving books, working the register, and giving psychic readings under the code
nameofAvalon.So,yeah,maybeIwanttospendmysparetimeindulgingmyselfinalittleescape—is
thatsobad?”Ipressmylipstogetherandlookhimrightintheeye,knowingmostofthatwastrueand
wonderingifhe’llcallmeonthepartsthataren’t.

Buthejustshakeshishead,refusingtobeswayed.“AndnowthatJude’sbetter—nowthatyou’ve

healedhimwithatriptoSummerland—Ican’thelpbutwonderwhatexcuseyou’llfindnext.”

Isuckinmybreathandavertmygaze,surprisedtohearhimanswerlikethat,andthetruthis,Ihave

noideahowtorespond,noideawhatcomesnext.Kickingasmallpebblewiththetoeofmyshoe,unable
toconfide,tootiredandbeatentocomeupwithanythingelse.

“You know, you used to be as bright and shining here on the earth plane as you were today in

Summerland.” I swallow hard and bow my head, hardly believing my ears when he goes on to say, “I
know about the magick, Ever.” His voice low, almost a whisper, though the words reverberate like a
scream.“Iknowyou’reinwayoveryourhead.AndIwishyou’dletmehelpyou.”

Istiffen.Mywholebodystiffensasmyheartcrashesviolentlyagainstmychest.
“Iknowthesigns—thejitteriness,thelying,theweightloss,the—diminishedappearance.You’rean

addict,Ever.Addictedtothedarksideofmagick.Judenevershould’vegottenyouintothis.”Heshakes
hishead,hisgazeneveronceleavingme.“Butthesooneryouadmitit,thesoonerIcanhelpmakeyou
better.”

“It’s not—” I struggle to speak, but the words won’t come. The monster’s in control, dead set on

blowingusapart.“Isn’tthatwhyyouwenttotheGreatHallsofLearning?Soyoucouldhelpme?”Ilook
athim,seeingthewayhisexpressionchangestooneofhurtsurprise.Butit’snotenoughtostopthebeast,
nope,notevenclose.Thistrainisjustnowpullingoutofthestationandstillhasalongwaytogo.“So
tellme,whatdidyousee?Whatdidthealmightyakashicrecordssharewithyou?”

“Nothing,”hesays,voicetired,fullofdefeat.“Ididn’tlearnathing.Apparentlywhentheproblemis

oftheperson’sownmaking,accessisforbiddenwhereothersareconcerned.I’mbannedfrominterfering
inanyway,shape,orform.”Heshrugs.“It’sallpartofthejourneyIguess.Still,onethingisclear,Ever.
LastThursdaynight,Romanmentionedaspell—andeversinceJudegaveyouthatbooknothing’sbeenthe
same—with you—between us—everything’s changed.” He looks at me, waiting for confirmation, but it
won’t come, can’t come. “You two share a long and complicated history—and it’s quite clear he’s not
overyouyet.AndIcan’thelpbutfeelthathe’sgettingintheway—thatmagickisgettingintheway,and,
Ever,it’lldestroyyouifyou’renotcareful—I’veseenithappenbefore.”

Myeyessearchhisface,knowinghe’stryingtosendmeanimage,amessageofsomesort,butthat

strangeforeignpulseisatfullthrum—thedarkflameburningbright—weakeningmypowerstowhereI
cannolongergraspDamen’sthoughts,hisenergy,histingleandheat—can’tgraspanythingatall.

He moves toward me, gripping my shoulders long before I can blink, gazing into my eyes with

determinationandpurpose,fullyresolvedtodealwiththisonceandforall.

ButasmuchasIwantto,Ican’tlethimin,can’tlethimseemelikethis.Therevulsionhe’llseein

myeyesisn’tcomingfromme,it’sthebeast,buthewon’tknowthedifference.

And even though it kills me to do it, even though it only proves that he’s right, that I really am

dangerouslyandrecklesslyoutofcontrol,Istilljustshakemyheadandwalkaway,allthewaytothecurb
wheremycar’sparked.

Calling over my shoulder to say, “Sorry, Damen, but you’re wrong. Dead wrong. I’m just

overworkedandovertired,justlikeIkeeptellingyou.Andifyoueverfeellikecuttingmesomeslack—
well,youknowwheretofindme.”

ChapterTwenty

Idon’tevenmakeitoutofthegatebeforemycarisgone,andmybuttslamsagainstthepavementso

hardandfastit’samomentbeforeIrealizeitvanishedrightoutfromunderme.Igazearoundinadaze,
tryingtodeterminehowthatcould’vehappened,whenaspeedingMercedescomesbarrelingtowardme,
nearlyrunningmeoverasitsdriverhonks,flipsmethebird,andyellsaslewofobscenitiesmyway.

Scrambling to the side, I shut my eyes tightly, determined to manifest a new car, something more

powerfulandquickerthistime.ImaginingaflamingredLamborghini,andseeingitsoclearlybeforeme,
I’mshockedtoopenmyeyesandfinditsnotthere.Andaftertakingadeepbreathandtryingagain,first
aimingforaPorsche,thenaMiataliketheoneIhaveathome,itstilldoesn’tworksoItryforasilver
PriusliketheoneMunozdrives,followedbyaSmartCar—butnothingcomes.Nothingatall.AndI’mso
desperateforwheelsbythispoint,I’llhappilysettleforascooter,butwhenIcan’tevenmanifestthat,I
halfjokinglytryforapairofRollerbladesinstead.Discoveringjusthowbadit’sgottenformewhenallI
end up with is a pair of white leather boots with two strips of metal where the wheels should be. And
that’swhenIdecidetoruninstead.Happytoknowthatifnothingelse,Istillhavemyownstrengthand
speed.

My feet pounding the asphalt, heels slamming easily, effortlessly, as I make my way along the

curving,swoopinghillsofCoastHighway,fullyintentonheadingstraighthomeonlytorunrightpastthe
turnandheadelsewhereinstead.Somewherebetter.SomewherethathaseverythingIneed—everythingI
could ever desire. So single-minded in my vision, so determined to reach my destination no matter the
cost,Imovefaster,quicker,andinnotimeatall,I’mthere.

RightoutsideRoman’sdoor.
Mybodyshakingwithlonging,anticipation,asthedarkflameinsidemeburnssobrightlyitthreatens

toincineratemyinsides.Closingmyeyesandsensinghim,feelinghim.

Roman’sinside.
AndallIhavetodoispushthedooropenandhe’smine.
In one fluid movement, I’m in. The door slamming so hard against the wall, the entire house

reverberatesfromtheforce,asIslinkdownthehall,quickly,silently,findingRomaninhisden,lounging
onthecouch,armsspreadwide,faceexpectant,asthoughhe’sbeenwaitingforme.

“Ever.”Henods,nottheleastbitsurprised,notmissingabeat.“Youreallyhaveanissuewithdoors,

don’tyou?IsthatanotheroneI’llhavetoreplace?”

Imovetowardhimwithouthesitation,hisnameapurronmylipsasmybodyanticipatesthechillof

hisgaze.

Henods,slowly,steadily,asthoughlisteningtoarhythmheardonlybyhim.AllowinghisOuroboros

tattoo to flash in and out of view, his voice low and measured, when he says, “Nice of you to drop by
darlin’,buttruthbetold,Ilikedyoubetterthelasttimeyoucameover.Youknow,whenyoustoodoutside
mywindowinthatfetchingsee-throughnightieofyours?”Hislipsliftatthecornerasheslipsacigarette
between them, sparks the tip, and takes a long, thoughtful drag. Carefully blowing a succession of
perfectlytimedsmokeringsmywaywhenheadds,“Asitstandsnow—well,you’rehardlyatyourfinest.
Infact,you’relookingrather—peckish,aren’tyou?”

Irubmylipstogether,moisteningthemwithmytongueasIattempttocombmyfingersthroughmy

sadsnarlofhair.WhatusedtobeaglossythickmaneIwasinordinatelyproudofisnowreducedtoa
dull, ratted nest of split ends. I should’ve done more, should’ve made some sort of effort, worn some
perfume, dabbed on a little concealer, taken the time to manifest some new clothes that actually fit my
newlyshrunkenform.Cringingundertheweightofhisglare,thewayitrakesovermyemaciatedbody,
clearlyfarfromimpressedwithwhatIhavetooffer.

“Seriously,darlin’,ifyou’regonnacomecrashin’yourwayin’erelikethat,thenyouneedtolooka

littlemorepresentable.I’mnotDamen,luv.Iwon’tgoshaggin’justanyol’thing.I’vegotmestandards,
youknow?”

I close my eyes, willing to do whatever it takes to please him, to be with him, and knowing I’ve

succeededwhenIseetheglazedlookthatcomesoverhisface.

“Drina!”Hewhispers,cigarettetumblingfromhislipsandburningaholeinthecarpetashiseyes

drinkmein.Seeingcreamypaleskin,pinkrosylips,andablazeofcopperyredhairthatfallsovermy
shoulders, as I kneel down before him, extinguish the cigarette between my long, tapered fingers, and
placemyhandsonhisknees.

“MyGod—it—itcan’tbe—isitreally—?”Heshakeshisheadandrubshiseyes,gazingintoones

thecolorofemeraldsandwantingsobadlytobelieve.

Iclosemyeyes,enjoyingthefeelofhim,thechillofhim,slidingmyhandseverhigher,upoverhis

knees,allthewaytohisthighs,soclosetogettingwhatIwant,movinghigherstill,andthen—

Havenisbehindme.Hereyesblazing,handscurledintofists,andIcan’thelpbutwonderjusthow

longshe’sbeenwatching,sinceIdidn’tevenhearhercomein,didn’tevensenseherforthatmatter.But
then, Haven’s of no real consequence here. She’s merely the annoying barrier that’s got a bad habit of
gettinginmyway.OneIcaneasilyobliterate.

“What the fug do you think you’re doing, Ever?” She moves toward me, her harsh, narrowed gaze

rakingoverme,meanttointimidate,butitwon’twork,can’twork,shejustdoesn’tknowityet.

“Ever?” Roman squints, his eyes darting between us, unable to see what she sees. “What’re you

talkingabout,luv,thisisn’tEver—it’s—”

Butthat’sallittakes,themeresuggestionofherwordsandhe’sabletoseeme,seerightthroughthe

façadeIcreated.

“Bloodyhell!”Heshouts,pushingmeawaysohardIflyacrosstheroom,overatable,andintoa

chair, before I land next to where Haven is standing. “What kind of crap move you trying to pull,
anyway?”Hescowls,furiousathavingbeenplayedlikethat.

I swallow hard, my eyes never once leaving his, as Haven moves toward me in a swirl of black

leather and lace, her frosty cold breath slamming my cheek as the bite of her nails cuts into my wrist.
“Don’t you have somewhere else to be?” she says, the words ground out from behind tightly clenched
teeth.“Seriously,Ever,doesDamenknowyou’rehere?”

Damen.
Thenamestirringsomething—somethingdowndeep.Somethingthatcausesmyhandtoclutchatmy

amuletasItakeatinystepback.

Hergazescathing,facecreasedwithfury,whenshesays,“Youreallycan’tstandit,canyou?Can’t

standformetohavesomethingyoudon’t.”Sheshakesherhead.“WarningmeagainstRoman,tryingto
scaremeawaysoyoucouldhavehimalltoyourself.Well,I’vegotnewsforyou,Ever—I’mchanged.
Changed in ways you can’t even begin to imagine.” And though I try to yank my hand away, try to step
back and break free, her grip’s too strong, too determined, and if her eyes are any indication, she’s far
fromthroughwithme.“You’venobusinesshere.Youshouldn’thavecome.Idon’twantyouhere,Roman
doesn’t want you here—can’t you see what a joke you’ve become?” She focuses on my acnesplattered
chin, my newly sunken chest—the exact opposite of her porcelain-skinned perfection and well-defined
curves.“Whydon’tyoujustturnaroundandgobacktowhereveryoucamefrom,okay?Ilivebymyown
rules now, and this is how it goes: You don’t get the heck out, you try to overstay your visit and do
somethingcrazy,andyou’retheonewho’sgonnagethurt.”Herfingerssnakearoundmywrist’tilthey’re
flushwithherthumb,hereyesneveroncestrayingfrommine.“Youlooklikecrap.Asnaggle-haired,zit-
faced wreck.” She shakes her head in a shiny whirl of black wavy strands and platinum-tinged bangs.
“Whathappened,Ever?Damenchangehismindaboutwantingtospendtherestofeternitywithyouand
cutoffyourelixirsupply?”

Iopenmymouth,wantingtospeak,butnowordswillcome.SoIswitchmygazetoRoman,begging,

pleadingforhimtostepinandhelpme,buthejustwavesitaway,hiseyessignalinghe’sfinishedwith
me.NowthatheknowsI’mnotDrina,I’monmyown.

Leftwithnootherchoice,Iraisemywrist,theoneshe’sgrippingsohardit’sgonewhiteandnumb,

andflipheraroundsosuddenly,sounexpectedly,herback’sflushtomychestbeforeshecanfightit.

MylipstippedtowardherearwhenIsay,“Sorry,butIjustwon’ttoleratethatkindoftalk.”Feeling

herstruggleagainstme,tryingtobreakfree,butit’snouse,noonebeatsthemonster,noonebut—

Mygazewanderstothegilt-framedmirrorhangingbeforeus,struckbyourimage—Haven’shate-

filled gaze a perfect match for my own—with my own face so angry, so distorted so—monstrous—I
hardlyrecognizeit.Finallyabletoseewhatthey’veseenallalong,thecompletedegradationofwhatI’ve
become.

Myfingersloosen,justenoughtoallowhertobreakfree.Spinningonmeinacloudoffury,fistheld

high,amapofallsevenchakrasheldfirmlyinmind.

Butbeforeshecancompletetheswing,I’mgone.Theexcruciatinglyloudcrackofherbackhitting

thewalllingeringbehindasIpushheroffandfleeforthestreet.

Assuringmyselfshe’llbefine,justfine,immortalsalwaysheal.
ButnolongersureifIwill.

ChapterTwenty-One

WhenIreachthestore,IexpecttofindJude,butinsteadthedoorislockedandthesignflippedto

closed.Andaftertryingandfailingtounlockitwithmymind,Ifumblethroughmybag,searchingforthe
keywithfingerssoshaky,IendupdroppingittwicebeforeIfinallygetin.Whizzingpastthebookshelves
andCDrackssoquickly,Iforgetaboutthefixtureofangelfigurinestomyrightandslamitsohardthey
crashtothegroundinapileofbrokenpiecesandheavyshardsofglass.ButIdon’tstoptofixit.Don’t
even give it a second look. I just keep going, making my way into the back room and over to the desk
whereIpulloutthechairandcompletelycollapse.

Slumpedoverthedesk,myforeheadpressedtothewood,asIfighttosteadymypulseandslowmy

breath.Horrifiedbymyactions,byhowlowI’vesunk.Thescenefromtenminutesagorepeatingagain
andagaininmyhead.

Istaylikethatforawhile,untilmyskinstartstocoolandmymindstartstoclear,andwhenIfinally

liftmyheadandtakeagoodlookaround,Inoticethecalendar’sbeentornoffthewallandproppedup
beforeme.Today’sdatecircledinredalongwithaquestionmark,mynameunderlinedrightbesideit,
andthewords,Maybethis’llwork?writteninJude’smessyscrawl.

Andjustlikethat,Igetit.ThesolutionI’vebeenwaitingforisnow,thankstoJude,rightwithinmy

reach.Andit’ssounbelievablyobviousIcan’tbelieveIdidn’tthinkofitbefore.GapingatJude’ssloppy
circle,andthesmaller,printedcirclewithinitillustratingthemoonanditsphases.Andthefactthatthis
oneiscompletelycoloredinsignalsthattoday,themoonisgoingdark.

Hecateisrisingagain.
Andsuddenly,Iknowexactlywhattodo.
Insteadofwaitingforthemoontogolightandaskingthegoddesstocancelthequeenlikethetwins

had me do (which, by the way, probably only served to piss off the queen which is why it failed so
miserably),Ishould’vewaitedfortoday,forthemoontogodarkagain,soIcouldheadrightbacktothe
source—pickuprightwhereIstarted—withHecate,ruleroftheunderworld—andforgeanalliancewith
her.

I reach into the drawer, bypassing The Book of Shadows, and rummaging around for some of the

suppliesthatI’llneed.MakingamentalpromisetomakeituptoJudelater,asIcramanassortmentof
crystals,herbs,andcandlesintomybagbeforeslingingitovermyshoulderandheadingforthebeach—
theonlyplaceIcanthinkofthat’llprovidenotonlytheprivacyIseekbutthebodyofwaterrequiredfor
theritualbaththatIneed.

AndinnotimeatallI’mstandingattheedgeofthecliff,toescurledaroundtherockasIgazeoutat

an ocean so dark it blends with the sky. Recalling the same sort of night just one month before, when I
came here with Damen, so sure I couldn’t possibly sink any lower than turning my best friend into an
immortal,completelycluelesstothefactthatIwasabouttotakeitevenfurther.

Imakemywaydownthetrail,anxioustobegin.Carefullypickingmywayaroundjuttingrocksand

jagged turns, heart crashing hard against my chest as my body goes clammy with sweat, aware of that
feelingrisinginsidemeandknowingIneedtogetstartedbeforeittakesoveragain.Feetcarvingdeep
intothesandasImakemywaytowardthecave,trustingit’llbeempty,justlikeweleftit,knowingit’s
justlikeDamensaid:Peoplerarelyseewhat’sinfrontofthem.Andtheycertainlyneverseethis.

Idropmybagtothegroundandreachforalongtaperandsmallboxofmatches,theswishandsizzle

ofthematchstrikingthecasetheonlyaccompanimenttothegentlypoundingwaves.Securingtheburning
candle into the sand, I go about the business of arranging the rest of my tools on a blanket. Taking a
momenttogetitallorganizedbeforesheddingmyclothesandheadingoutside.

Iwrapmyarmstightlyaroundme,bracingagainstthewindthatpricksatmyskin,andattemptingto

warmitaway.Determinedtoignoretheprotrudingstackofribsthatpokeatmyfingers,thewaymyhip
bonesjutoutinfrontofme,tellingmyselfit’sallovernow,thecureisnear,noone,noteventhemonster,
canstopmefromrecovering.

Rushingtowardthefoamy,whitespray,myteethgnashingagainstitsbitter,frigidbite,Idiveundera

series of waves, eyes shut tight against the stinging saltiness, ears filled with that loud, roaring hum.
Shiftingontomybackassoonastheonslaughtisoverandtheoceanhascalmed.Myhairspreadoutall
aroundme,mybodyweightless,unburdened,Ibringmykneestomychestandgazeupataskysodark,so
stark,sovastandmysterious,Ican’tevenfathomit.GraspingtheamuletDamenplacedatmyneck,and
calling upon the collection of crystals to aid and protect, to keep the monster at bay long enough to do
whatneedstobedone.PlacingmyfateinHecate’shands,entrustingthat,justliketheyinandtheyang,
everydarkhasitslight.

I submerge myself again and again, until I’m cleansed and renewed and ready to begin, wading

towardtheshore,mybodywet,dripping,coveredingoosebumpsIbarelytakenoticeof.Thechillnow
abatedbythewarmassurance,thecompletecertainty,thatI’mjustsecondsawayfromslayingthebeast
andsavingmyself.

Thecavewallsflickerfromthelightofthecandle,causingasuccessionofdarkandlightshadows.

Andaftercleansingmyathame,wavingitthreetimesthroughtheflame,Ikneelinthecenterofthemagick
circleI’vemade.Incenseinonehand,athameintheother,re-creatingaritualsimilartotheonethatwent
before,onlythistimeIadd:

IcalluponHecate,thequeenoftheunderworld,magick,andthedarkestofmoons

Pleaseunweavethisspell,loosenthisbind,andextinguishthisdarkflamethatlooms

Oh,greatpatronofwitches,belovedmother,maiden,andcrone

Thisismymote,mywill,mymight

Soletitbedone!

Gasping in awe as a howl of wind swirls through the space and an applause of thunder cracks

overhead.Theforceofitcausingavibrationsopotentitknocksthestackofchairstothegroundasthe
earth begins to shift and move. A rhythmic, seismic shaking and trembling, a pulse originating from
somewheredowndeep—growingstronger,moreviolent,itscircumferenceincreasing—causinglayersof
rocktobreakfreefromthewallsandcrumblearoundme.

Everythingcollapsing,disintegrating,untilthere’snothingleftbutthegroundIkneelon,amountain

ofdebris,andanexpanseofnightsky.

Theearthstillsettling,stillmovingaroundmeasIriseandgivethanks.Pickingmywaythroughthe

smoke and ruin, as I run my hands through my thick, glossy hair and manifest a clean set of clothes so
quicklyandeasily,I’venodoubtmywillhasbeendone.

ChapterTwenty-Two

“Arewethereyet?”
Myfingerspickatthesoft,silkyblindfoldDamenusedtocovermyeyes.Asillyformalitysincewe

bothknowIdon’thavetolooktosee,butstill,he’ssointentonkeepingthesecret,hechoosestocover
everysingleoneofhisbases,whetherornotit’sactuallynecessary.

He laughs, the sound so melodic it makes my heart swell. Grasping my hand, his fingers entwined

around mine, as the almost feel of his palm emits the warmest, most delicious tingle and heat—a
sensationI’llnevertakeforgrantedagain,especiallyafterknowingwhatit’sliketoloseitcompletely.

“Ready?” he asks, moving behind me and untying the knot at the back of my head, dropping the

blindfoldandtakingamomenttosmoothdownmyhair,beforespinningmearoundandadding,“Happy
Birthday!”

Ismile—smilebeforeI’veevenhadachancetoopenmyeyes.Alreadyconvincedthatwhateverit

is,it’ssuretobegood.

And the second I see it, I gasp, my jaw dropped, hand clutching my neck, gazing upon a scene so

wondrousithardlyseemspossible—evenforSummerland.

“When did you do this?” I ask, struggling to take it all in. Gazing upon an exquisite utopia, a

seeminglyendlessfieldofblazingredtulipswithanexquisitepavilionplacedrightinitscenter.“Surely
youdidn’tcreatethisallnow?”

Heshrugs,eyesgrazingovermyfaceinawaythatmakesmywholebodygrowhot.“I’vehadthis

plannedforawhile,andwhilethepavilionisnotentirelyofmymaking,Ididalteritagoodbit,thetulips
areanaddedtouchIcreatedforyou.”Helooksatme,pullingmetohimwhenhesays,“AllIwantedwas
foryoutogetwellsowecouldenjoyittogether—justthetwoofus,youknow?”

Inod,hisloving,gratefulgazecausingmycheekstoflushasaninexplicableshynesssuddenlytakes

over.“Justus?”Itiltmyheadandtakehimin.“Youmeanwedon’thavetohurrybackformysurprise
party?”

Damenlaughs,noddingasheleadsmedeepintoafieldofthemostvibrant,blazingred.“They’re

stillsettingup—Ipromisedwe’dstopbyalittlelater,butfornow,whatdoyouthink?”

Iblink,blinkseveraltimesinquicksuccessionsinceIdon’twanttocry.Nothere.Notnow.Notin

thismagnificentfieldmeanttorepresentourundyinglove.Swallowinghardandspeakingpastthelumpin
mythroatwhenIsay,“Ithink—Ithinkyou’rethemostamazingpersonintheentireworld—andIthink
thatI’msoincrediblyluckytoknowyou—toloveyou—andIthink—IthinkIhavenoideawhatI’dever
dowithoutyou—andIthinkthatI’msoincrediblygratefulthatyoudidn’tgiveuponme.”

“I’dnevergiveuponyou,”hesays,facegonesuddenlyseriousashiseyessearchmine.
“Well,youmust’vebeentempted.”Iturn,rememberinghowdarkthingsgot,howfargoneIwas,and

biddingasilentthankstoHecateforfulfillingmywishandgivingmebackeverythingthatmattersmostin
myworld.

“Notevenforasecond,”hesays,handatmychin,turningmetowardhimagain.“Notevenonce.”
“Youwereright,youknow—aboutthemagick?”Ibitedownonmylipandgazeathimshyly.
Buthejustnods,it’snotlikeIdidn’tjustadmittoanythinghedidn’talreadyguessat.
“I—Ididaspell—abindingspell—and,well,itsortofhadtheoppositeeffectofwhatIwashoping.

IaccidentallyboundmyselftoRoman.”Iswallowhard,seeinghimcontinuetogazeatmewithafaceso
expressionless, it’s impossible to read. “And—at first I didn’t tell you because—well—because I was
too ashamed. It’s like—like I was obsessed with him, and—” I shake my head, grimacing when I
rememberthethingsIsaidanddid.“Anyway,theonlyplaceIwashealthywasrighthereinSummerland.
That’swhyIwasbeggingyoutocome.PartlysoIcouldfeelwholeagain,andpartlybecausethemonster
—themagick—wouldn’tletmeconfideontheearthplane,everytimeItrieditshutdownthewordsand
wouldn’tallowthemtocome—andallthisistosay—”

Heplaceshishandonmycheekandlooksatme.“Ever,”hewhispers,“it’sokay.”
“I’msorry,”Imumble,feelinghisarmscirclingaroundmybackashepressesmetohim.“Sovery,

verysorry.”

“Andsoit’sovernow?You’vefixedit?”Hepullsawayandtiltshishead,takingmein.
“Yeah.”Inod,wipingmyeyeswiththebackofmyhand.“It’sallgoodnow—I’mbetter—andmy

obsessionwithRomanisover.I—Ijustthoughtyoushouldknow.Ihatedkeepingitfromyou.”

He leans toward me and presses his lips to my forehead, looking at me when he says, “And now,

mademoiselle,wouldyouliketobegin?”Wavinghisarminawidearcandbowingdownlow.

Ismile,myhandclaspedinhisashewhisksmeacrossthefieldandinsidethatgorgeouspavilion,a

buildingsobeautiful,soexquisitelywrought,Ican’thelpbutgaspyetagain.

“Whatisthisplace?”Iask,takinginthepolishedwhitemarblefloors,thedomedceilingscoveredin

themostjaw-droppingfrescoesfeaturingluminous,pink-cheekedcherubsfrolickingamongothercelestial
beings.

He smiles, motioning me onto a creamy white couch so plush, so soft and cushy, it’s like a giant

marshmallow cloud. “It’s your birthday present. And, as oddly coincidental as it may be, it’s your
anniversarypresentaswell.”

Isquint,mymindrunningbackward,pilferingthroughalonglistofmemories,andcomingupempty.

It’snotyetbeenayearsincewefirstgottogether—oratleastthistimearoundanyway,soIreallyhaveno
clueastojustwhat“anniversary”he’sreferringto.

“Augusteighth.”Henods,seeingtheconfusedlookonmyface.“Augusteighth,sixteenoheight,to

beexact,wasthedaywefirstmet.”

“Seriously?”Igasp,it’sallIcanmanage,I’msoshockedbythenews.
“Seriously.” He smiles, leaning back against the cloud of cushions and pulling me close. “But you

don’thavetotakemywordforit,youknow.Here,seeforyourself.”Hepicksuparemotefromthelarge
table before us and points it toward the large circular screen that surrounds the entire far wall of the
room.“Infact,you’renotlimitedtojustseeingit,youcanevenexperienceitifyouwish,it’sreallyupto
you.”

Isquint,havingnoideawhathe’sgettingat,noideawhat’shappeninghere.
“I’vebeenworkingonthisforeverandIthinkit’sfinallyready.Thinkofmylittleinventionasasort

of interactive theater. One where you can either sit back and enjoy the show or jump right in and

participate—it’syourchoice.Butfirstthereareafewthingsyoumustknow.One,youcan’tchangethe
outcome, the script is predetermined, and two”—he leans toward me, his finger trailing over my cheek
—“hereinSummerlandallendingsarehappy.Anythingeventheslightestbittragicordisturbinghasbeen
carefullyomitted,sonoworries.Youmayevenenjoyasurpriseortwo.IknowIdid.”

“Aretheyrealsurprisesoronesmanufacturedbyyou?”Isnuggleagainsthim.
Buthe’squicktoshakehishead.“Real.Totallyandcompletelyreal.Mymemories,asyouknow,go

wayback,sofarbackthatsometimes,well,theygetabitfuzzy.SoIdecidedtodoabitofresearchover
in the Great Halls of Learning, a sort of refresher course if you will, and as it just so happens, I was
remindedofafewthingsI’dforgotten.”

“Such as... ?” I glance at him briefly, before pressing my lips to that wonderful spot where his

shouldermeetshisneck,instantlysoothedbythealmostfeelofhisskinandhiswarmmuskyscent.

“Such as this,” he whispers, shifting me so I’m facing the screen and not him. The two of us

snugglingintoeachotherashesqueezesabuttonontheremoteandwewatchasthescreencomestolife,
fillingwithimagessolarge,somultidimensional,it’sasthoughwe’rerightinit.

And the moment I see that busy city square with its cobblestone streets and crowds of people all

hurryingaroundeachothermuchastheydotoday,asthoughtheyallhavesomewhereimportanttobe,I
knowjustwhereweare.Theremaybehorsesandcarriagesinsteadofcars,theremaybeoverlyformal
attire compared to our modern, casual wear, but with the abundance of vendors loudly hawking their
wares,thesimilaritiesareastonishing—I’mlookingataseventeenth-centurymini-mall.

IpeeratDamen,thequestionposedinmyeyes,seeinghimsmileinanswerashehelpsmetostand.

LeadingmetowardthescreensoquicklyIcan’thelpbutstop,convincedmynoseisgoingtosmackright
intoit,whenheleanstowardmeandwhispers,“Believe.”

SoIdo.
Itakethatbigleapoffaithandkeepgoing,rightintothehardcrystalscreenthatinstantlysoftensand

yieldsandwelcomesusin.Andnotjustasoddlydressedextras,butinperiod-appropriateattire,thetwo
ofuscastintheleadingroles.

I gaze down at my hands, surprised to find them so rough and calloused though immediately

recognizing them from my Parisian life, when I was Evaline, a lowly servant facing a life of mind-
numbingmanuallaboruntilDamencamealong.

Irunthemoverthefrontofmydress,notingtheitchofthefabric,themodest,severecutresultingin

afitthat’snottheleastbitflattering.Butstill,it’scleanandwellpressed,soItrytotakeasmallbitof
prideinthat.Andeventhoughmyblondhairisbraidedandtwistedandscrapedoffmyface,anunruly
tendrilortwostillmanagetofindtheirescape.

ThevendorsnapsatmeinFrench,andeventhoughI’mawareI’monlyplayingapart,thatthisisn’t

thelanguageIspeak,somehowI’mabletonotjustunderstandbutalsotoreply.Recognizingmeasoneof
hismostdiscerningcustomers,hehandsmearipe,redtomatoheclaimsashisbest,watchingasIturnit
overandoverinthepalmofmyhand,inspectingitscolor,itsfirmnessoftouch,noddingmyconsentand
jugglingforthechangeinmypouchwhensomeonebumpsagainstmesoabruptly,thefruitslipsfrommy
gripandfallstotheground.

Igazeatmyfeet,heartsinkingwhenIseetheclumpy,red,splatteredmess.Knowingit’llcomeat

greatcosttome,thatthekitchenstaffwillneveragreetocoverit,Ispinonmyheel,awordofreproach
pressingforthfrommylips,whenIseethatit’shim.

Heofthedarkglossyhair,deepglintinggaze,gorgeouslytailoredclothes,andthefinestcarriageto

evergracethesepartsasidefromthequeen’s.TheonetheycallDamen—DamenAuguste.TheoneIseem
torunintoanawfullotthesedays.

Iliftmyskirtsandkneeltowardtheground,hopingtosalvagewhateverIcanandnotgettingveryfar

beforeI’mstoppedbyhishandonmyarm,atouchthatsendsaswarmoftingleandheatrightthroughto
mybones.

“Pardon,”hemurmurs,bowingbeforemeandseeingthatthevendorisreimbursedfortheloss.
And even though I’m intrigued, even though my heart’s beating wildly, hammering hard against my

chest,eventhoughthatoddsenseoftingleandheatpersistentlylingers,Iturnaway,andmoveon.Sure
thathe’sjustplayingwithme,painfullyawarethathe’swelloutofmyleague.Onlytohavehimcatchup
tomeandsay,“Evaline—stop!”

Iturn,myeyesmeetinghis,knowingwe’llcontinuethiscatandmousegame,iffornothingelsebut

propriety’s sake. But also knowing that eventually, if he keeps it up, if he doesn’t grow bored or lose
interest,I’llgladlysurrender,ofthatthere’snodoubt.

He smiles, placing his hand on my arm as he thinks: This is how we started—and this is how we

continuedforsometime.Shallwefast-forwardtothegoodparts?

I nod, and the next thing I know, I’m standing before a great, gilded mirror, gazing at the image

reflectedbeforeme.Notinghowmyplainuglydresshasbeenswappedforoneofafabricsorich,sosoft
and silky, it practically glides right over my body. Its low neckline the perfect showcase for my pale
décolletageandgeneroussmatteringofjewelssoshinyandbrilliant,Ihardlyseeanythingelse.

Hestandsbehindme,catchingmyeyeashesmileshisapproval,andIcan’thelpbutwonderhowI

gothere,howapoor,orphanedservantlikemeendedupinaplacesogrand,withamansogorgeous,so
—magical—he’salmosttoogoodtobetrue.

Heoffershishandandleadsmetoanextravagantlydressedtablefortwo.ThesortoftableI’mmore

usedtoservicingthansittingat.Butnow,withDamenatmyside,andhisservantsdismissedforthenight,
I watch as he raises a finely cut crystal carafe so slowly, so tentatively, with a hand gone so suddenly
shakyit’sclearthere’saninternalbattlewagingwithinhim.

Hemeetsmygaze,hisfaceaconflictedmaze.Frowningslightlyasheplacesthecarafebackonthe

tableandchoosesthebottleofredwineinstead.

Igasp,myeyeswide,lipsparted,thoughnowordswillcome—thefullrealizationofthisonesimple

actsuddenlydawningonme.Youalmostdidit!Youcamesoclose.Whydidyoustop?Knowingthatif
he’dgonethroughwithit,servedmetheelixirrightfromthestart—everythingwould’vebeendifferent.

Every.Single.Thing.
Drina never could’ve killed me—Roman never could’ve tricked me—and Damen and I would’ve

livedhappilyeverafterandafterandafter—prettymuchtheoppositeofthewaywelivenow.

Hiseyessearchmine,gazeprobinganddeep,shakinghisheadashethinks:Iwassounsure—didn’t

knowhowyou’dacceptit—ifyou’dacceptit—didn’tthinkitwasmyplacetoforceitonyou.Butthat’s
not why I brought you here, my only intent was to show you that your Parisian life, hard as it was,
wasn’t all misery. We had our share of magical moments—moments like this—and we would’ve had
more—ifitweren’tfor—

Heleavesthatparthanging.Webothknowwhereitends.ButbeforeIcanevenraisemyglasstohis,

the dinner is over, and he’s walking me home. Leading me around to the back, stopping just shy of the
servants’ entrance, where he encircles his arms around my waist and pulls me close, kissing me so
passionately, so deeply, I never want it to end. The feel of his lips upon mine so soft and insistent, so
warmandinviting,stirringsomethingdowndeep—somethingsofamiliar—somethingso—real—

Ipullaway,eyeswide,gazingintohis,asmyfingersexploremysoft,swollenlips,theplaceonmy

cheeksleftrawandtenderfromwherehisstubblehasgrazedthem.Noenergyfieldhoveringbetweenus,
noprotectiveveilofanykind.Nothingbutthegloriousfeelofhisskinonmine.

He smiles, fingers moving over my cheeks, down my neck, along my collarbone, and quickly

replacinghisfingerswithhislips.It’sreal,hethinks.Noshieldisnecessary.Thereisnodangerhere.

I look at him, my mind racing with the possibilities. Is it—is it really possible that we can be

together—now—here?Hopingagainsthopethatitis.

But he takes a deep breath and joins his fingers with mine, touching me in a way we haven’t

experiencedformonthswhenhethinks:I’mafraidthisismerelyatheaterofthepast.Youcaneditthe
script,butyou’renotallowedtochangeit,ad-libit,oraddexperiencesthatneveroccurred.

Inod,saddenedbythenewsbuteagertobeginagain,pullinghimbacktomeandpressingmylips

againsthis,determinedtobehappywithwhateverisallowed,forhoweverlongitcanlast.

And so we kiss at the servants’ door—he in his fine-woven black waistcoat and I in my plain

servant’swear.

We kiss in the stables—he in full English hunting attire and I in my tight riding breeches, sharply

tailoredredjacket,andshinyblackboots.

We kiss by the waterside—he in the plain white shirt and black slacks of the day and I in grossly

unflatteringPuritanwear.

Wekissinafieldoftulipssored,they’reanearlyperfectmatchformyblazeofthick,wavyhair.He

inafilmywhiteshirtandloosetrousers,Iinablush-coloredslipofsilk,strategicallyknottedandtied.
Taking the occasional break so he can continue to paint me, adding a stroke here, a dab there, only to
throwdownhisbrush,pullmebacktohim,andkissmeagain.

All of my lives so different, and yet somehow playing out almost exactly the same—the two of us

findingeachotherandfallingquickly,onlytohaveDamen,determinedtonotactrashly,togainmyfull
trustbeforefeedingmetheelixir,hesitateforsolongitgaveDrinaenoughtimetocatchonandeliminate
me.

Andthat’swhyyouwastednotimewhenyoufoundmeaftertheaccident,Ithink.Cradledinthe

warmthofhisarms,mycheekpressedtightlytohischest,seeingthemomentfromhisperspective—how
he’dfoundmewhenIwasten(thankstoalittlehelpfromRomyandRayneandSummerland)—andhow
he spent the next several years biding his time until enough years had passed and he moved to Eugene,
Oregon.Havingjustenrolledinmyhighschoolwhentheaccidenthappenedanddestroyedallhisplans.

I watch him at the scene—see how he hesitates—nervously fretting—begging for guidance.

Panickingwhenthesilvercordthatattachesthebodytothesoulbecamesotense,sostretched,itsnapped
yetagain,instantlyforminghisdecisiontopressthebottletomylipsandforcemetodrink,forcedme
backtolife,tobecomeimmortallikehim.

Anyregrets?Hegazesatme,urgingmetobehonest,nomatterwhat.
ButIjustshakemyhead.SmilingasIpullhimbacktome,backtothatblazingredfieldofthatlong-

agoday.

ChapterTwenty-Three

“Youready?”
Damen’sfingersgrazeovermylips,thealmostfeeloftheminfusingmewiththememoryofakissso

real,sotangible,I’mtemptedtodraghimrightbacktoSummerlandandstartupalloveragain.

Only I can’t. We can’t. We already committed to this. And though it can never compare to the

birthdaycelebrationDamenjustgaveme,everyone’swaitingandthere’snoturningback.

Itakeadeepbreathandgazeatthehousejustbeforeus.Itsfaçadesimple,attractive,inthatcozy,

welcoming way, despite that fact that it’s hosted some of the very worst scenes of my not-so-long-ago
past.

“Let’sgobacktoParis,”Imurmur,onlyhalfjoking.“Youdon’tevenhavetoeditoutthenastyparts.

Seriously. I’d much rather put on the crunchy brown dress and scrub the latrines—or whatever they
calledthembackthen—thanfacethis.”

“Latrines?”Helooksatmeandshakeshishead,thesweettinkleofhislaughflowingovermeashis

darkeyesglint.“Sorry,Ever,buttherewerenolatrinesbackthen.Norestrooms,orbathrooms,orwater
closetseven.Thatwasthetimeofchamberpots.Asortof,well,ceramicpot,keptunderone’sbed.And
trustme,thatisonememoryyoudonotwanttorelive.”

Igrimace,unabletoimaginehowcompletelygrossthatmust’vebeentousesuchadevice,muchless

tohavetoemptyit.VisiblywincingwhenIsay,“See?IfIcouldonlyexplaintoMunozthattherealreason
I’m just not that into his class is because history tends to lose its appeal for those who were actually
forcedtoliveit.”

Damenlaughs,headthrownbackinawaythatmakeshisnecksoinviting,soenticing,it’sallIcan

donottopressmylipshardagainstit.“Trustme,we’vealllivedit.Mostofusjustdon’tgetthechance
torememberit,muchlessrelive it.” He looks at me, his face gone serious when he says, “So, are you
ready?Iknowit’sawkward,andIknowyou’restillalongwayfromevertrustingheragain,butthey’re
waiting,soattheveryleast,let’sjuststopinandallowthemthepleasureofshoutingHappy Birthday,
okay?”

Helooksatme,gazewarm,open,andIknowifIsaidno,showedtheslightestbitofresistance,he’d

gowithit.ButIwon’t.Becausethetruthis,he’sright.Ihavetofaceheragaineventually.Nottomention
howI’dreallylikehertolookmeintheeyeasshetriestoconvincemeofherhighlyunlikelystory.

Inodslowly,reluctantly,movingtowardthedoorwhenhesays,“Nowremember—act surprised.”

Rapping his knuckles once, twice, then merging his brows when no one bothers to answer it in a well-
rehearsedchorusof“Surprise!”

Hepushesthedooropen,leadingmepasttheentry,downthehall,andintothesunnyyellowkitchen

beyond,onlytofindAva,dressedinabrownstraplessdressandgoldsandals,casuallyhelpingherselfto
adrinkthat’ssuspiciouslyred.

“Sangria,”shesays,shakingherheadandlaughingwhensheadds,“Really,Ever,justhowlongwill

ittakeforyoutotrustmeagain?”

Ipressmylipstogetherandshrug,doubtingI’lleverbeabletotrustheragain,despitewhatDamen’s

toldme.Ineedtohearitfromher,thenI’lldecide.

“Everyone’soutback.”Shenods,lookingatmewhensheadds,“Sotellme,wereyousurprised?”
“Onlybythelackofsurprise.”Igrantherahalfsmile,that’sthebestIcanmanage,andshe’slucky

toevengetthat.AndthathasfarlesstodowithhowImayfeelaboutherpersonally,andmoretodowith
thefactthatshe’sgladlytakenoverthecareandfeedingofthetwins,allowingDamenandmeourprivacy
again.

“So it did work!” She laughs, ushering Damen and me out back where everyone’s gathered. “We

figuredtheonlywaytothrowyouoffthescentwastodotheoppositeofwhatyouexpect.”

I step onto the patio, seeing Romy and Rayne lying on the grass, stringing necklaces from a large,

gleaming bowl of crystals and beads, then draping them around the stone statue of Buddha, while Jude
lounges alongside them, eyes closed, face tilted toward the sun, his arms back to new, courtesy of
Summerland.Anddespitethesurgeofwarmth,love,andsecuritythattinglesrightthroughmeasDamen
leans into my shoulder and squeezes my hand, I can’t help but feel saddened when I gaze upon my
supposedgroupoffriends.

A woman I don’t like, much less trust; twins who openly resent me—one more than the other, but

still;andanapparentloveinterestfromthepastwhojustsohappenstobethelongtime,bitterrivalofmy
soul mate. And the only thing that makes me feel the slightest bit better is Miles, and the fact that if he
wasn’tinFlorence,he’dsurelybeherewithme.

ButnotHaven.
AfterIbecamemyselfagainandtriedtoexplainittoher,shewasstilltooiratetodoanythingbut

scream at me. And so I pretty much had no choice but to give her a little time to cool off—I just hope
she’llcomearoundeventuallyandseewhatRomanisreallyabout.

And standing here like this, with my sad little birthday party playing out before me—well, it only

drives home the fact that I’ve lost her—her trust—her friendship—and I’ve no idea if I can ever get it
back. I mean, just when we have more in common than ever before—just when I can finally share the
secretsI’vebeenhidingthewholetimeI’veknownher—Imesseverythingupsobadlysheditchesmefor
myimmortalenemy.

I sigh under my breath, sure I can’t possibly feel any worse, when Honor squeezes through the

French doors and heads straight for Jude. Dropping down beside him and arranging her dress so
comfortablyandcasuallyIcan’thelpbutgape.Can’thidemyopenmouthed,gawkingconfusionwhenshe
turnstomeandtwistsherwristbackandforthinanawkwardlittlewave.

Inod,barely,imperceptibly,unabletospeakpastthelumpinmythroat,unabletomakesenseofthis

scene.

Aretheydating?Orjusthangingoutbecauseoftheirsharedinterestinmagick?Didhetrulynot

getitwhenIexplainedthatwe’remerelyclassmatesnotfriends,andthehugegapingdifferencethat
dividesthetwo?

Andasmyeyessweepoverthem,allofthem,Ican’tbelievethisisit.Thatthisiswhatit’scometo.

Almostayearinthistown,tryingtoforgesomekindoflife,andmyonlyreallastingrelationshipiswith
Damen,which,truthbetold,I’vemanagedtopushbeyondallreasonablelimits.

Avaclearsherthroatandoffersusadrink,inwhatI’msureisanattemptatafeignedbitofnormalcy

for Honor and Jude’s sake, since they’re pretty much the only ones here who don’t know the real truth
aboutDamenandme—oratleastnottothefullextentanyway.

But I just shake my head and wave it away, convincing myself that it’s better like this, really and

trulytheonlyway.ThefewerconnectionsImake,thefewergood-byesI’llhavetosay.ButeventhoughI
knowforafactthatit’strue,itdoesn’tdomuchtofillupthatbigemptyspacelurkinginsideme.

I squeeze Damen’s hand, telepathically assuring him not to worry, to just stay put and I’ll be back

soon. Then I make my way inside, at first thinking I’ll make for the bathroom, splash some cold water
over my face and try to get some of that good feeling back, but when I see the door to Ava’s “sacred
space”Iduckinthereinstead.Startledtoseethepurplewallsandindigodoortransformedintoapastel
havenofpreppydécor—aroomthat’sgottobeRomy’ssinceRaynewouldnevergoforsuchalook.

Iperchontheedgeofherbed,fingerssmoothingthesoftgreenduvetasIgazeatthefloorjustbefore

me, remembering the day when everything changed. The day I said good-bye to Damen, the day I was
foolishenoughtotrusthimtoAva’scare.SoconvincedIwasdoingtherightthing—theonlything—little
didIknowhowthatonesmallchoicewouldhavesuchhugerepercussionsthatwouldprettymuchimpact
therestofmylife—therestofeternity.

Itakeadeepbreathandrestmyheadinmyhands,tellingmyselftogetup,getbackoutthere,make

anattemptatsmalltalk,thenfindanexcusetoleave.Rubbingmyeyesandrunningmyfingersthroughmy
hairandovermyclothes,justabouttodoexactlythatwhenAvacomesinandsays,“Ohgood,I’vebeen
hopingforamomentalonewithyou.”

I press my lips together, fighting the overwhelming urge to rush toward her and punch out all her

chakras,iffornootherreasonthantosee,onceandforall,justwhosesideshe’sreallyon.ButIdon’t.I
don’tdoathing.Instead,IstayrightwhereIamandwaitforhertobegin.

“You know, you’re right about me.” She nods, leaning against Romy’s dresser, legs crossed at the

ankles, though her arms remain open and loose. “I did run off with the elixir. And I did leave Damen
exposedanddefenseless.There’sjustnogettingaroundit.”

I gaze at her, my heart beating frantically, even though I already knew it, even though Damen

explainedittome,it’sawholeotherexperiencetohearheractuallyadmitit.

“Butbeforeyourushtoconclusions,I’mafraidthere’salittlemoretoitthanthat.Despitewhatyou

maythink,IwasneverincahootswithRoman.Iwasn’tpartneredwithhim,friendlywithhim,orworking
withhiminanyway,shape,orform.Hecamebyforareadingonce,yes,waybackwhenIfirststarted.
And,tobehonest,hisenergywassooff—sodisconcerting—Igavehimasilentblessingandsenthimon
hisway.ButthereasonIdidwhatIdid—thereasonIfailedtolookafterDamen,well,it’scomplicated
—”

“I’llbet.”Iliftmybrowandshakemyhead.I’venointentionofcuttingheranyslackorlettingher

dancearounditwithsomeoverlycomplexexplanation.

She nods, determined to take it in stride. True to her usual self, she’s unfazed by my outburst. “At

first,Iadmit,IgotalittlecaughtupinallthepossibilitiesofSummerland,ofallthegloriousgiftsthatit
offered.YouhavetounderstandI’vebeenoutonmyownforsolong,supportingmyselfandworkinghard
foreverythingthatIhavewithnohelpfromanyone,andmoreoftenthannot,justbarelyscrapingby—”

“Areyouseriouslyexpectingmetofeelsorryforyou?Becauseifso—saveit.Seriously.Itwon’t

work.”Ishakemyheadandrollmyeyes.

“Justtryingtogiveyoualittlebackground.”Sheshrugs,claspingherhandsbeforeherandflexing

her fingers. “It’s not a bid for sympathy, believe me. If nothing else, I think I’ve learned an important
lesson in taking responsibility for my own life. I’m just trying to explain my initial reaction to

Summerland,howenthralledIwasbytheabilitytojustmanifestanymaterialthingIcouldwant.AndI
knowIwentalittleoverboard,andIknowhowmuchitannoyedyou.But,afterawhile,IrealizedIcould
build myself a mansion full of treasures in Summerland, but it wouldn’t make me any happier—either
thereorontheearthplane.Andthat’swhenIdecidedtogoalittledeeper,trytoimprovemyselfinways
I’dnevertrulyattemptedbefore.Sure,Ihadmysacredspaceandmymeditations,butonceIsetmysights
ongainingaccesstotheGreatHallsofLearning,well,that’swhenIwasforcedtowalkallthattalkI’d
beenspoutingforyears.Andso—Igaveupeverythingelseandconcentratedsolelyonthat,anditwasn’t
longbeforeIwasin,andIneverlookedback.”

Ilookather,myeyesnarrowedtoslits,andallIcanthinkis:Well,bravoforyou,Ava,bravofor

you.

“I know what you are, Ever. Damen too. And while I don’t necessarily agree with it, it’s not my

placetointerfere.”

“Is that why you tried to have him killed? Is that how you deal with things you don’t approve of?

Soundslikeinterferingtome.”Iglareather,diggingmytoeintothecarpetasdeepasit’llgo.

She shakes her head, her voice calm, gaze fixed on mine. “I didn’t know any of this when I left

Damenthatday.Backthen,Itrulybelievedthateverythingwouldbereversed—justasyoubelievedtoo.
You’dgobackintime,Damenwouldgobackaswell,andwhileIwasn’tsureofjustwhattheelixirwas,
I had my suspicions, had every intention of drinking it too—but then, for some reason, just when I was
aboutto—Istopped.Ijustcouldn’tgothroughwithit.Iguesstheenormityofitgottome—theenormityof
livingforever.”Shelooksatme.“That’sprettyseriousstuff—don’tyouthink?”

Ishrug.Shrugandrollmyeyes.Sofarshehasn’tsaidathingtochangemymindabouther,andI’m

stillnotconvincedshedidn’tdrinkit,forthatmatter.

“So,intheend,Itossedit,madetheportaltoSummerland,andstartedsearchingforanswers—for

peace.”

“Anddidyoufindany?”Iask,thetoneinmyvoicemakingitclearthatIdon’treallycareeitherway.
“Yes.”Shesmiles.“Mypeaceisinknowingthatwe’veallgotourownjourney—ourowndestinyto

fulfill.Andnow,Ifinallyknowmine.”Ilookather,seeingthewayherfacelightsupwhensheadds,“I’m
heretousemygiftstohelpthosewhoneedit,tolivewithoutfear,totrustthatI’llalwayshaveenoughto
getby,andtofinishraisingthetwinsinawayIfailedtomanagebefore.”Shegivesmealook,alooklike
shewantstoreachoutandhugme,butluckilyshesettlesforrunningherhandthroughherhairandstaying
rightwheresheis.“I’msorryaboutwhathappened,Ever.Ineverthoughtitwouldenduplikethis.And
whileImaynotapproveofwhatyouandDamenare,it’sreallynotmyplacetojudge.You’vegotyour
ownjourneytowalk.”

“Yeah? And what’s that?” I ask, my eyes meeting hers, surprised by the amount of yearning in my

voice,hopingshemighthavesomesortofclueastojustwhatitisthatI’mherefor.Becausesofar,Ihave
noidea.

ButAvajustshrugs,herkindbrowneyessparklingonminewhenshesays,“Oh,no.”Shesmilesand

shakes her head. “I’m afraid that’s for you to discover all on your own. But believe me, Ever, I’ve no
doubtit’sgoingtobebig.”

ChapterTwenty-Four

BythetimeIgethome,it’slate.AndeventhoughDamenofferstohelpmecarrymygiftsupthestairs

andintomyroom,eventhoughpartofmeistemptedtolethimdoexactlythat,Ijustgivehimaquickkiss
onthecheekandheadinonmyown.Wantingonlytodiveintothewelcomingcocoonofmybed,soIcan
havethefinalhourofmybirthdaytomyself.

Ipickmywayupthestairs,carefully,quietly,notwantingtoalertSabinewhoselightispeekingout

fromunderherdoor.Havingjustdroppedthebundleofpresentsontomydesk,whenshepadsdownthe
hallandcomesin.

“Happy Birthday.” She smiles, wrapped in a robe so creamy and plush it looks like a cloud of

whippedcream.Squintingattheclockonmynightstandwhenshesays,“Itisstillyourbirthday,right?”

“Seventeen.” I nod. “And not a day older.” Watching as she makes her way in and perches on the

edgeofmybed,eyeballingthepileofgifts—acoupleofmetaphysicalbooksfromAvathatIprettymuch
“read”themomentItouchedthem,anamethystgeodefromJude,aT-shirtthatsays

NEVERSUMMONANYTHINGYOUCAN

’

TBANISH

from Rayne (ha-ha), and another one with a colorful spiral symbol from Romy that probably came
from the same Wiccan store, along with an iTunes gift card from Honor who handed it to me as she
mumbled,“Um,becauseyouseemtoreallylikemusicwiththewayyou’realways,youknow,allplugged
inandall.”Oh,andvaseaftervaseofbrilliantredtulipsthatDamenmust’vemanifestedthemomenthe
droveaway.

“That’squiteabountyyougotthere,”shesaysasItakeitallin,tryingtoseeitinthesamewayshe

seesit,moreasacelebrationofmyexistenceandlessareminderofthosewhoaremissing.

Idropontomydeskchairandkickoffmysandals,sensingshe’shereforapurposeandhopingshe’ll

hurryupandgettoit.

“Iwon’tkeepyoulong—it’slateandyou’reprobablytired,”shesays,accuratelyreadingmymood.
AndeventhoughIstarttoprotest,outofpolitenessifnothingelse,Idon’tgetveryfarbeforeIstop.

Becauseasniceasitistovisitwithher,asseldomasIgettoseeheralonethesedays,Ireallydowish
wecouldpushthislittlevisittotomorrow.I’mjustnotupforoneofherlong,meanderingtalks.

But, of course, that particular mood she doesn’t sense, she just looks me over with her narrowed

gazewhenshesays,“So,how’severything—yourjob—Damen?Ihardlyeverseeyouthesedays.”

I nod, assuring her it’s all good, careful to put a little oomph into the word, hoping it’ll serve to

convinceher.

Shenods,gazelighteninginreliefwhensheadds,“Well,youlookgood.Yougotsothintherefora

whilethatI—”Sheshakesherhead,atraceofjusthowworriedshewascloudinghergazeandmaking
me feel about this big. “But you seem to be filling out again. Your skin’s all cleared up too—which is
good—”Shepressesdownonherlips,asthoughcarefullyweighingwhatshe’sabouttosaynext,before
plungingahead.“Youknow,Ever,whenIsaidIwantedyoutoworkthissummer,Ididn’texactlymeanit
quiteinthewaythatyoutookit.Iwasreferringmoretoapart-timegig,somethingtokeepyouoccupied
forafewhourseachday,butthewayyou’vebeengoingatit—”Shestopsandshakesherhead.“Well,
I’mprettysureyou’reputtinginmorehoursthanIam.Andnowwithjustahandfulofweeksuntilschool
startsagain—well,Ithinkyoushouldconsidergivingnotice,soyoucanenjoyalittletimeonthebeach,
spendsometimewithyourfriends.”

“Whatfriends?”Ishrug,feelingthatstingatthebackofeacheyeasmystomachtakesalittledip.But

still,Isaidit.Admittedatruthsopainful,shecan’thelpbutshiftandgazeatthefloor.Takingamomentto
compose herself before lifting her eyes to meet mine and motioning toward the pile of birthday booty
whenshesays,“Well,excusemeforsayingso,butIthinktheevidenceprovesotherwise.”

Iclosemyeyesandshakemyhead,furiouslydabbingatmycheeksasIquicklyturnaway,thinkingof

theonefriendwhowasn’ttheretoday,whoprobablywon’tbethereeveragain,thankstothemonsterand
me.

“Hey—you okay?” She reaches toward me, wanting only to comfort, but pulling away just as

quickly,rememberinghowfinickyIamaboutbeingtouched.

Itakeadeepbreathandnod,knowinghowmuchsheworries,andwishingIhadn’tdraggedherinto

this.Becausethetruthis,Iamokay.Likeshesaid,myclothesnolongerhangonme,myskinisclear,my
relationshipisbackontrack,andthathorriblebeast,thatstrangeforeignpulsethatonceruledme,hasn’t
been seen or heard from since that night on the beach. And even though there will always be that huge
gapingholemyfamily’sabsencehasleft,eventhoughI’llhavetosaygood-byetoSabinesomedaysoon,
Damenwillalwaysbethere.Ifhe’sprovednothingelsethispastyear,it’sclearthathe’sfullycommitted
tome—tous.Nomatterhowbadthingsget,he’snottheleastbitputoff.Andintheend,that’sallIcan
ask.Everythingelse,well,itjustiswhatitis.

IlookatSabineandnod,firmerthistime,likeItrulydomeanit.Imadeupmymindmonthsago,

pledgedmyallegiancetoimmortalityandnowthere’snolookingback—justalongforwardmarchinto
infinity.

“Justasmallcaseofthebirthdayblues,Iguess.”LookingatherwhenIadd,“Surelyyou’refamiliar

withthepainofgrowingolder?”Smilinginawaythatstartsatmylipsbutcreepsallthewayuptomy
eyes—asmilethatencourageshertosmiletoo.

“Youhavemysympathies.”Shelaughs.“Thoughyou’llhavethemevenmorewhenit’syourturnto

be forty.” She rises from the bed and makes for the door, hands buried deep in the pockets of her robe
when she says, “Oh, I almost forgot, I left a few things on your dresser over there.” She nods in that
general direction. “The one from me—well, I think you’ll be surprised when you see it. I know I was
whenIfoundit,butIwasalsohopingyoucouldcarveoutsometimefromyourbusyschedulesothatwe
couldhavelunchandgoshopping.”

I nod. “I’d like that,” I tell her, realizing just after I said it that I really, really would. It’s been a

whilesincewe’veenjoyedsomegood,girlyfun.

“Oh, and the other one—the card”—she shrugs—“it came today. I found it shoved under the door

whenIgothome.Ihavenoideawhoit’sfrom,thoughit’sclearlyaddressedtoyou.”

I glance at the dresser, taking in a rectangular package beside a large pink envelope that almost

seemsto—glow—onlyinaforeboding,ominousway.

“Anyway,Ijustwantedtowishyouahappybirthday.”Shepeeksattheclock.“You’veonlygota

fewminutesleft,sobesuretoenjoyit!”

ThesecondthedoorclosesbehindherImakeforthedresserandgrabthebox.Itscontentsrevealed

theinstantItouchit.

ItearoffthepaperasfastasIcan,droppingtheshreddedbitstothefloorandliftingthelidtoreveal

aslim,purpleleatherphotoalbumcontainingallthephotosRileytookonthatfatefultriptothelake—
including the one I saw in Summerland. And as I flip through them, I can’t help but wonder if she
somehowarrangedthis—ifshecanseethis—seeme?ButIdon’tcallouttoheragain,thatneverleads
anywhereanymore.IjustwipemyfaceoftearsandwhisperaquietThanks.Placingitonmynightstand,
knowingI’llwanttokeepitsomeplaceclosewhereIcanlookatitagainandagain.ThenIreachforthe
envelope with my name inscribed on its front in an overly formal scrawl—sucking in my breath as it
shimmersandglowsinmyhand,andknowingfromthewaymywholebodychillsit’sfromhim.

Tipping my nail under the flap, determined to get this over with fast, I glance at its pink, glittery

cover before flipping it open and skimming the usual, preprinted message before my gaze drops to the
lowerleftcorner,whereRoman’swrittenanoteinhisloopy,cursivescrawl,reads:

It’stimetoclaimthatwhichyoumostdesire

TodayonyourbirthdayI’llgrantacease-fire

Beatmyhousebeforemidnighttonight

Asecondtoolateandthisofferexpires

Hopetoseeyousoon!

Roman

xoxo

ChapterTwenty-Five

BythetimeIgettoRoman’sIhaveonlyminutestospare.Twotobeexact,andI’mhopinghisclock

isreflectingthattoo.Butthistime,insteadofchargingthedoorlikeIusuallydo,Irapmyknucklesagainst
itandwait.Becauseifwetrulyarecallingatrucelikehesays,thenashowofmannerscan’thurt.

Iwait,addingupthesecondsasIglanceatmywatch,thesoftsoundofhisapproachingfeetsignaling

thatmymomenthascome—theresultofmagickdoneright.

Thedoorswingsopenandhestandstherebeforeme,allsparklyblueeyes,glisteningwhiteteeth,

and suntanned skin. A black silky robe kind of thing, what was once called a smoking jacket, hanging
looseoffhisshoulders,exposinganampleexpanseofbarechest,absthatareremarkablydefined,anda
pairofoldfadedjeansthathanglowonhiships.

Andthat’sallittakes.Onepassingglanceatthebountybeforemeandmybodybeginstotremble,my

knees start to sag, and my pulse quickens in a way so horrible, so dreadfully familiar, a new
understandingslowlycreepsoverme:

Themonsterisn’tslain!Isn’tbanishedatall!Itmerelyretreated,hunkereddownsomewheredeep,

bidingitstime,andrebuildingitsstrengthuntilitcouldriseupagain...

Iswallowhard,forcinganodasthougheverything’sfine.Awareofhisgazesweepingoverme,not

missing a thing, knowing I need to get through this no matter what, there’s no way I can fail when
everythingIneedissowellwithinmyreach.

He motions me in, head cocked to the side. “Glad to see you’re on time,” he says, studying me

carefully.

Iturn,notevenhalfwaydownthehallbeforeIstopandreconsider.Seeingthelookofamusement

thatcrosseshisfaceasthecolordrainsfrommine.“Justintimeforwhat,exactly?What’sthisabout?”I
narrowmygaze,pressingupagainstthewallasheslinkspastandurgesmetofollow.

“Why it’s about your birthday, of course!” He laughs, glancing over his shoulder and shaking his

head. “That Damen’s such a sentimental wanker—I’m sure he did his best to make your day special.
Though,IdaresaynotnearlyasspecialasI’mabouttomakeit.”

Istandmyground,refusingtobudge.Butdespitethefactthatmyhandsandlegsaresoshakyitfeels

as though the sockets are coming loose, my voice stays controlled, measured, giving nothing away.
“FulfillingyourpromiseandgivingmewhatIwantwillmakeitspecialenough.Noneedtooffermea
seatIwon’ttake,andadrinkI’llrefuse.Whydon’twejustfast-forwardfromhereandgettoit,okay?”

Helooksatme,eyescreasingwithlaughterasasmiletugsathislips.“Wow,thatDamen’sonelucky

bloke.”Heshakeshisheadandrakeshisfingersthroughhisgoldentousleofcurls.“Noneofthattime-

wastingforeplayforyou.SeemsourlittleEverherewouldratherskiprightpasttheappetizersandgetto
themaincourse—and,luv,Ican’tapplaudyouloudlyenoughforthat.”

Iforcemyfacetoremainblank,impassive,despitehowmuchhiswordsmaydisturbme.Painfully

awareofthisdarkflameburninghotterinsideme,nowfannedbyhispresence.

“Andwhileyoumaynotdesireadrinkoraseat,asitjustsohappensIdo.AndsinceI’mthehostof

thislittlesoiree,I’mafraidyou’lljusthavetohumorme.”

Heswoopstowardthedeninaswirlofblacksilk,sidlingbehindthebarandfillingaheavycrystal

gobletwithageneroussplashofred.Wigglingtheglassbeforeme,encouragingtheopalescentliquidto
sparkandshineasitrunsupanddownthesides,remindingmeofwhatHavenoncesaidaboutitbeing
morepotentthanDamen’sandwonderingifit’strue.Ifitgivesthemsomesortofadvantage—ifitwould
workthatwayformetooorendupmakingmeascrazyanddangerousasthem.

I rub my lips together and struggle to steady myself. My fingers growing fidgety, twitchy, knowing

it’snotmuchlongerbeforeIloseitcompletely.

“SosorryaboutyourlittleproblemwithHaven.”Romannods,raisinghisglassandtakingalong,

steadysip.“Butpeoplechange,youknow?Notallfriendshipsarebuilttolast.”

“Ihaven’tgivenup.”Ishrug,thewordsringingwithfarmoreassurancethanIfeel.“I’msurewe’ll

beabletoworkitout,”Iadd,thatstrangeforeignpulsethrobbingwithinmewhenhetiltshisheadtothe
sideandallowshisOuroborostattootoflashinandoutofview.

“You sure about that, luv?” He looks at me, fingers idly circling the stem of his glass as his gaze

movesovermeinthatslow,leisurely,intimatewaythathehas.ChoosingtolingeronthedeepVofmy
dresswhenhesays,“Imean,nooffensedarlin’,butIbegtodiffer.It’sbeenmyexperiencethatwhentwo
determined birds want the same thing—well, someone’s bound to get hurt—or worse—as you well
know.”

Imovetowardhim—notthemonsterbutme(thoughthemonstercertainlydoesn’tobject),gazefixed

on his when I say, “But Haven and I don’t want the same thing. She wants you and I want something
entirelydifferent.”

He peers at me from over the rim of his glass, the goblet obscuring everything but his steely blue

gaze.“Oh,yeah,andwhat’sthat,luv?”

“You already know.” I shrug, moving my hand from my hip and clasping it behind my back so he

can’tseethewayittremblesandshakes.“Isn’tthatwhyyousummonedmehere?”

Henods,settinghisdrinkonthegold-beadedcoaster.“Still,I’dlovetohearyousayit.Lovetohear

thewordsspokenoutloud—fromyourlipstomyears.”

Itakeadeepbreath,takeinhisheavy-liddedgaze,wideinvitinglips,andbroadexpanseofchest,

mygazelureddowntohisabs,andlowerstill,whenIsay,“Theantidote.”Pushingthewordspastmy
lips,wonderingifhehasanyideaofthebattlewaginginsideme.“Iwanttheantidote,”Irepeat,firmer
thistime.Adding,“Asyouwellknow.”

AndbeforeIcanstopit,he’sstandingbesideme.Facecomposed,handsrelaxed,hanginglooseat

hissides.Thechillofhisskinemanatingovermeinawaveofcool,sweetreliefwhenhesays,“Iwant
youtoknowthatIbroughtyouherewiththepurestintentions.Afterseeingthewayyou’vesufferedover
thesepastfewmonths,I’mfullypreparedtocallitoffandgiveyouwhatyouwant.Andeventhoughit’s
beenagoodbitoffun,oratleastithasformeanyway.”Heshrugs.“Muchlikeyou,Ever,I’mreadyto
moveon.BacktoLondon,thatis.Thistown’stoolaidbackformytastes,Irequireabitmoreactionthan
this.”

“You’releaving?”Iblurt,thewordscomingsoquicklyI’mnotsurewho’sresponsibleforvoicing

them.

“Doesthatupsetyou?”Hesmiles,gazesearchingmyface.
“Hardly.”Iscowl,rollingmyeyesandavertingmygaze,hopingtodistracthimfromthetremorin

myvoice.

“I’ll try not to take that personally.” He smiles, Ouroboros tattoo flashing in and out of view, its

beady eyes seeking mine as its tongue slithers about. “But before I go, I thought I’d tie up a few loose
ends,andseeingasit’syourbirthdayandall,IthoughtI’dstartwithyou.Giveyouthegiftyouwantmost.
Theonethingyouwantmorethananythingelseintheworld,thatnootherperson,livingordead,could
evergiveyou—”Hetrailshisfingerdownmyarm,lightly,quickly,thememoryofitlingeringlongafter
he’sturnedawayandmovedon.

Istareathisretreatingback,knowingIcan’taffordthis,can’taffordtoslipup.Remindingmyselfof

themagicalfeelofDamen’slipsjustafewhoursbefore,andhowverycloseIamtoreclaimingthat—but
onlyifIcankeepmyselfincheck.

Romanturns,fingerbeckoningformetofollowandtskingatmyresistancewhenhesays,“Trustme,

luv,I’venoplanstotrickyouordragyouofftomychambers.”Heshakeshisheadandlaughs.“There’ll
be plenty of time for that later, if that’s what you choose. But for now, I’ve got something a little more
technicalplanned.Andspeakingof,haveyouevertakenaliedetectortest?”

I narrow my gaze, having no idea what he’s getting at but sure it’s a trap. Eyes on his back as he

leadsmedownthehall,throughthekitchen,andoutthebackdoor,allthewaypastthehottubperchedoff
the side of the porch, and over to a room, like a converted detached garage that, upon entering, seems
equalpartsantiquitiesstorehouseandmad-scientistlab.

“Ihatetosayit,luv,andbelieveme,Imeanabsolutelynooffense,butyouhavebeenknowntolieon

occasion—mostly on the occasions when it benefits you. And since I’m a man of integrity, since I
promisedtogiveyoutheonethingyoutrulywantmorethananythingelseintheworld,Ifeelit’sonly
right that we’re both completely clear on just what that is. There’s clearly something odd going on
betweenyouandme.DoIreallyneedtoremindyouofhowyouthrewyourselfatmethelasttimeyou
werehere?”

“It’snot—”Istart,notgettingveryfarbeforeheholdsuphishand.
“Please.” He smirks. “Spare me the excuses, luv. I have a much more direct way of getting the

answersIseek.”

Ipressmylipsintoafrown,havingseenenoughTVcrimeshowstorecognizethecontraptionhe’s

leadingmetoward.FullyexpectingmetostrapmyselfinandconsenttoapolygraphtestI’venodoubt
he’srigged.

“Forget it,” I say, spinning on my heel, ready to leave. “You’re just gonna have to take me at my

word,orthedeal’soff.”

Havingjustreachedthedoorwhenhesays,“Well,thereissomethingelsewecantry.”
Istop.
“Andtrustme,there’snowaytorigthisone,especiallyforpeoplelikeus.Andasitjustsohappens,

it fits right in with all of that metaphysical everything is energy and joined as one crap you’re so
enamoredof.”

I sigh loudly, audibly, tapping my foot against the floor, hoping to release some of this energy

buildinginsideme,aswellascluehimintojusthowimpatientI’mgetting.

But Roman’s not about to be hurried, or rushed, or operate on any sort of schedule other than his

own.Hisfingersabsentlypickingataloosethreadonhisjacketashelooksmeoverandsays,“Yousee,
Ever,thethingis,it’sbeenscientificallyproventhatthetruthisalways,alwaysstrongerthanalie.Thatif
youweretomeasurethetwosidebyside—pitoneagainsttheother,sotospeak—thetruthwouldalways

bethevictor.Whatdoyouthink?”

Irollmyeyes,theactalonesignalingwhatIthinkofthatandjustabouteverythingelsethat’staken

placeuptothispoint.

But Roman’s unmoved, determined to play it his way when he says, “And as it just so happens,

there’saveryeasywayinwhichtotestthis—onethatcannotberiggedandrequiresnothingmorethan
yourownphysiology.Caretotry?”

Uh,notreally!Istarttosay,want to say, but the monster is rising and won’t let me speak, which

onlyencouragesRomantocontinue.

“Now,wouldyouorwouldyounotsaythatwe’rebothofequalstrength?Thatamongourkindthere

arenorealphysicaldifferencesintermsofstrengthandspeedbetweenmenandwomen?”

Ishrug,neverhavingreallythoughtaboutiteitherwayandnotreallyinterestedinstartingnow.
“So,withthatinmind,I’dliketodemonstratesomethingIthinkyou’llfindquiteinteresting.And,on

asidenote,IassureyouI’mnottryingtoplayyou,it’snotagame,andnoonegetshurt.I’msincereabout
givingyouthethingyouwantmost,andthisisthebestwayIcanthinkoftodeterminewhatthatis.I’ll
evengofirst,soyoucanseeIhavenotricksupmysleeve—sotospeak.”

Hestandsbeforeme,armraisedtohisside,paralleltotheconcretefloor.Noddingashesays,“Now

goahead,placeyourtwofingersonmyarmandgiveitalittlepushdownwardasIresistandpushup.
Nothingfunnyhere,Ipromise.You’llsee.”

Myeyesmeethis,seeingthechallengeinhisgazeandknowingIhavenochoicebuttogoforward

andmeetit,sincehealoneholdsthekey.Ihavetoplaythegame,hisrules,hisway.

Istareathisarmhoveringbeforeme,tanned,strong,beggingtobetouched.AndeventhoughIknow

Ican’tdoit,can’tcontainit,still,Iclenchmyteethandtry.Pressingmyfingersagainstit,thechillofhis
skinemanatingthroughthesoft,silkyfabricofhissleeve,causingthedarkflameinsidemetosparkand
blaze.

Roman’svoiceasoft,thickwhisperinmyearwhenhesays,“Feelthat?”
Ilookathim,awareofnothingmorethantheinsistentpulsenowthrumminginsidemeasmybody

fillswithheat.Heatthatseeksnothingmorethanhiscool,sweetrelief.

“Okay,sonowIwantyoutoaskmeaquestion,asimpleyesornoquestion,onethatyoualready

know the answer to. Giving me a moment to concentrate on the answer and state it both mentally and
verballyasyoutrytopushmyarmdownwithtwofingers.”

Iglancebetweenmywatchandhim,kneejigglinglikecrazy,knowingIdon’thavemuchlonger.
Buthejustnods,armraised,encouraginggazeonmine.“Thetruthstrengthens,liesweaken—now’s

yourchancetotestthattheoryonme,sowecanthentestitonyou.It’stheonlywaytoprovewhatyou
reallydowant,Ever.So,goahead,askmeaquestion,whateveryouwant.I’llevenlowermyshieldso
youcanreadmythoughtsandseeI’mnotcheating.”

Helooksatme,theweightofhisgazecausingmypulsetoquickenandmyhearttocrashuntilIcan’t

—Ican’t—

“Ask me a question, Ever.” He peers at me closely. “Ask me anything you want. The sooner we

finishwithme,thesoonerwecangetontoyouanddeterminejustwhatitisyoudesiremost.”

Istandbesidehim,strugglingtosteelmyself,tocentermyself,butit’snouse,Ican’tdoit,can’tplay

thisgameanymore.

“Would you rather we skip ahead?” he asks, gaze moving over me, slowly, deeply. “Would you

preferItestyouinstead?”

He waits, giving me a moment to collect myself, to take a deep breath and bid a silent plea to

Hecate,askingherforthestrengthtogetthroughthis,togetwhatIcamefor.ButwhenIlookatRoman

again,IrealizeHecatehasleftme,I’mallonmyown.

“Itistheantidoteyouwant,right?”heasks,turningtowardme,socloseIcanfeelhisbreathonmy

cheek,hislipsjustinchesfrommine.“Thatistheonetruethingyoudesireaboveallelse?”

Yes!Ishout,thewordcomingfromsomewheredowndeepasmymindrepeatsitwithsuchforceI’m

surehecanhearit.

Onlyhecan’thearit.
Becauseitwasnevervoiced.
It’sjustanemptysoundthatbouncesaroundinmyheaduntilitfinallydiesout.
Andthesecondhiseyesmeetmine—I’mgone.
Theflameroaringthroughme,settingmybodyablaze,asmyfingers,hungryforthefeelofhisflesh,

graspandclawatthatsmoothexpanseofgoldentannedchest.

“Careful,luv.”Hegripsmywristsandpullsmetightlytohim,eyesnarrowed,lipsmoistandwet.

“I’veneverbeenoneforthescratchmarks,nomatterhowfasttheymayfade.”Holdingmeawayfromhim
ashisgazetrailsdownmybody—hungry,predatory,andIthebanquetbeforehim.“Also,we’llhavenone
ofthisnonsense.”Helaughs,looseningtheamuletfrommyneckandtossingitcleartotheothersideof
theroomwhereitrollsandbouncesandclinksagainsttheground.

But I don’t care about that, don’t care about anything but the feel of his fingers snaking their way

downmyback,thewayheburieshisfaceinmyhairandpresseshisnosetomyneck,inhalingstrongly,
deeply,fillinghimselfwithmyscent.Hisgazeburningintomineasheliftsmeintohisarmsandlowers
meontothecouch.RiddinghimselfofhisjacketandunfasteninghisjeansasIrunmyhandsoverhisskin
andpullhimdowntome,eagerforthefeelofhiskiss,hislipsuponmine.

Gasping when he pushes me away, removes my hands from his neck, and says, “Take it easy, luv.

You’retheonewhodoesn’tlikeallthatforeplay,remember?There’splentyoftimeforthatlater,butfirst,
let’sgetthisthingdone.Afterall,you’vebeenwaitingfor—what?Fourhundredyears,isit?”

I pull him back to me, hungry for more—more of his skin—more of the taste of him—my body

pushing,arching,desperatetomeethis,mylipsswollen,greedyforallhecangive.Wantinghimtowant
me in the way I want him, and willing to do whatever it takes to get him to kiss me—then suddenly
rememberingjustwhatthatis...

Hewedgeshiskneebetweenmine,losinghisjeansandsquaringhiships,positioninghimselfashe

says,“This’llonlyhurtaminute,luv,andthen—”

Andthenhelooksatmeandeverythingstops—hiseyesglazedwithlonging,lipspartedinwonder,

asthatlook—thelookI’vebeenlongingfor,yearningfor,suddenlytakesover.

Thelookthattellsmehewantsme—needsme—asmuchasIwantandneedhim.
Ipullhimdowntome,desperatetofinallyfeelthepressofhislipswhenhebendstowardme,voice

awhisperofhushedreverencewhenhesays,“Drina—”

I pull back, squinting, confused, looking into his eyes and seeing what he sees—flaming red hair,

porcelainskin,emeraldgreeneyes—areflectionthatdoesn’tbelongto—me.

“Drina...”hemumbles,“Drina,I...”
Andwhilemybody’sstillresponding,encouraginghistouch,hisgentlecaressofmyskin,myheart’s

shrinkingback,refusingtoplay.Somethingiswrong—something’sgonevery—very—wrong—something
thatclingstotheouteredges,juststartingtoformandtakeshape,whenhetugsatmydressanditslips
rightaway.

AndwhenIgazeathim,seethatglazedlookinhiseyes,Iknowit’salmosthere.Mybirthdaygift—

thethingIwantedmost—isabouttobemine.

Vaguelyawarethatfromthismomenton,nothingwilleverbethesame.

Nothing.
Never.Ever.Again.
HemovesmylegsapartasIbraceforthatbriefflashofpain.Turningmyheadtofacethemirroron

thefarwall,onlytobemetbyanimageofagirlwithflamingredhair,luminescentpaleskin,emerald
greeneyes,andasmilesoferalIrecognizeitimmediately.

Thesameimageheseeswhenhelooksatme.
Onlyit’snotreallyme.Notmeatall!
“Ready,luv?”Romangazesdownatme,anticipationmarkedonhisface.
Andwhilemyheadnodsinassentandmybodyliftstomeethis,it’snotreallymewho’sresponding.

Themonstermayrulemybody,butit’sgotnothingtodowithmyheartormysoul.

LikeRomansaidearlier:Intheend,thetruthalwayswins.
Andluckyforme,mysoulknowsthescore.
Iclosemyeyesandfocusonmyheartchakra,seeingthatspinninggreenwheelofenergyemanating

rightfromthecenterofmychest,encouragingittogrowoutward,expand,gettingbiggerandbiggeruntil
—

Romanmumblesmyname,onlyit’snotreallymyname,it’shername,voicethickwithanticipation,

eagertobegin,havingnoideawhatI’mupto,that,foramomentanyway,I’vemanagedtowin.

I bring my knee up and jam it straight into him. My ears ringing with the sound of his agonized

scream,ashishandsclutchbetweenhislegsandhiseyesrollbackinhishead.Islipoutfromunderhim,
moving hurriedly, quickly, knowing it’s just a matter of seconds before he’s healed and back at full
strengthagain.

“Where are you hiding it?” I ask, frantically tugging on my clothes and slamming my amulet back

downaroundmyneck,knowingwithoutlookingthatheseesmeastheblond-haired,blue-eyedmeagain.
“Whereisit?”Idemand,glancingaroundthesmall,well-orderedlab.

Heduckshishead,carefullyinspectinghimself,ashemutters,“Damnit,Ever—”
ButI’venotimeforthat.“Tellmewhereitis!”Ishout,strugglingtofocusonmyheartchakraasI

clutchtheamulettightlytomychest.

“Areyoucrazy?”Heshrugsonhisjeansandscowls.“Youpullacrapmovelikethatandexpectme

tohelpyou?”Heshakeshishead.“Forgetit.Youcould’vehadthatantidote,youcould’vewalkedaway
with it ten minutes ago, but you made your choice, Ever. Fair and square as we both know. I was fully
prepared to hand it over, and no, it’s not here, so don’t bother ransacking the place in search of it.
Seriously,justhowdaftdoyouthinkIam?”Hepullsonhissmokingjacketandyanksitclosedacrosshis
chest, as though to keep from tempting me again. But despite the monster still clamoring inside, I’m no
longerinterested.Thebeastmaybealiveandwell,butmyheartandsoularenowleading.“Iwasfully
prepared to lead you to it, but you chose otherwise. And just because you had a last minute change of
heart—” He lifts his brow in a way that tells me he knows the source of my strength. “That doesn’t
changeathing.Youchoseme,Ever.I’mwhatyouwantedmost.Butnow,afterthestuntyoujustpulled,
you’llgetneither.”Heshakeshishead.“Nosecondchancesafteracrapmovelikethat.”

I stand before him, the dark flame raging within, urging me toward those ocean blue eyes, golden

tousleofhair,moistwaitinglips,trim,slinkyhips...

“No,”Imumble,takingastepback.“Idon’twantyou.I’veneverwantedyou.It’snotme—it’s—it’s

somethingelse.Thisisn’tmyfault,I’mnotincontrol!”

Ipressmylipstogether,knowingthere’sonlyonewayoutofhere,butthatIshouldn’tdoitinfront

of him, shouldn’t raise his suspicions like that. But still, it’s not like I can trust my legs to carry me
anywherebuttohisbed.

IclutchtheamulettomychestasIconcentrateontheshimmering,goldenveil.Envisioningtheportal

to Summerland and seeing it spring open before me, just about to step through when he says, “Foolish
Ever, don’t you realize there’s no longer any difference between you and your—monster? You are the
monster.It’syourdarkside,yourshadowself,andyou’venowjoinedasone.”

ChapterTwenty-Six

I land in that vast fragrant field. Reluctantly, guiltily, knowing I shouldn’t have done it. Shouldn’t

havecomeherelikethis.Shouldn’thaveletRomanwatchmedisappear.ButwhatchoicedidIhave?

Myresolvewasrunningthin,chippedawaybythemonsterwithin,andjustafewsecondsmorein

hispresencewould’vesurelybeentheend.Theendofme.TheendofallIholddear.

Becausethethingis—Romanisright.Totallyandcompletelyright.TheonlyreasonIlost,theonly

reasonIfailedtogetwhatIwant,isbecausethemonsterisme,there’snodifferencebetweenus.Itmakes
allthemoves,callsalltheshots,whileI’mjustalongfortheride,withnoideahowtopullthebrakesor
getoff.I’malloutofoptions.I’venoideawheretoturn.AllIknowis:

Thereversalspellfailed,asdidthebidtoHecate.
AndDamen,well,Damencan’tsaveme.
Can’teverlearnabouttherepulsivethingIalmostjustdid.
Can’tspendthenexthundredyearssavingmefrommyself.
I’vesunksodeep,fallensofar,there’snogettingup.Nogettingmylifebackontrack.NowayIcan

headbacktotheearthplaneandriskallofthat.

So I wander, with absolutely no destination in mind and no idea what I’ll do once I get there. I

wanderalongtherainbow-coloredstream,feetmovingidly,unhurried,justamblingalong,barelypaying
anynoticewhenthestreamendsandthegroundbeneathmyfeetbecomesamushy,soggy,wetpath.

Barelynoticingwhentheaircoolsbyseveraldegrees,andthatlightgoldenshimmergrowsthicker,

denser,hardtoseethrough.

AndmaybethatexplainsmyshockwhenIseeit.WhenIrealizeI’veunknowinglyreachedtheplace

where the mist is always at its thickest, where it’s easy to get turned around to the point of no return.
Takinginitsfamiliarslopingoutline,thefrayedandwornropes,theslatted,splinteringwood,itsshape
waveringinandoutoffocus,obscuredbythefog,butstill,evenso,there’snodenyingwhatitis.

Nomistakingthebridgethatcrossestotheotherside.
TheBridgeofSouls.
Ikneeldownbesideit,kneessinkingintothedamp,mist-ladenearth,wonderingifit’ssomekindof

sign,ifIwasledhereonpurpose,ifI’mmeanttofinallycrossit.

What if the opportunity I previously denied is now being offered again? A no-questions-asked,

specialdealforrepeatcustomerslikeme.

Ireachforthehandrail,anoldfrayedropethatlooksasthoughitcouldsnapatanysecond,seeing

thewaythefoggrowsincreasinglythickertowardthemiddle,becomingsodense,itsfinaldestinationisa

white,shrouded mystery. Remindingmyself that thisis the very samebridge I urgedRiley to cross, the
sameonethatmyparentsandButtercuptooktotheotherside.Andiftheywereabletocrossitandcome
outokay,thenreally,howbadcoulditbe?

Imean,whatifIjustgotup,brushedmyselfoff,tookadeepbreath,andcrossedit?
Whatifallittakestosolveallmyproblems,ridmyselfofthemonster,extinguishthisflame,andsee

myfamilyagainisjustonesmallstep,followedbyanother?

Ahandfulofstepstowardtheirwarm,welcomingarms.
AhandfulofstepsawayfromRoman,Haven,thetwins,Ava,andthehorriblemessthatI’vemade.
AhandfulofstepstowardthepeacethatIseek.
Imean,seriously,whatcouldithurt?SurelyI’llfindmyfamilyallwaitingforme—justlikeyousee

onallthoseafterlifeshowsonTV?

Igrasptheropetighterandpushmyselftomyfeet,mylegsshaky,unstable,asIleanforwardeverso

slightlyandstraintogetabetterview.WonderingjusthowfarI’dhavetogobeforeI’dreachthepointof
noreturn.RememberinghowRileyclaimedtomakeitabouthalfway,beforesheturnedrightbackaround
andwentlookingforme,onlytogetsoconfusedbythemist,shecouldn’tfinditagain—oratleastnotfor
awhileanyway.

ButevenifIdiddecidetokeepgoing,makemywayclearacrosstotheotherside,wouldthefinal

destination be the same for me as it was for them? Or would it be more like a freight train suddenly
switching its tracks, leading me toward the eternal abyss of the Shadowland instead of the sweet ever
after?

I take a deep breath and shift, lifting my foot off the wet soggy ground, just about to make a move

whenI’msuddenlyovercomebyasoothingwaveofcalm—apeacefulrushthatcanonlymeanonething
—thatonlyonepersoncanyieldinme.AcalmsooppositeDamen’stingleandheat,I’mnottheleastbit
surprisedwhenIturntofindJudebesideme.

“You know where that leads, right?” He motions toward the gently swaying bridge, struggling to

keephisvoicecrisp,clear,butthenervoustremorrevealsall.

“Iknowwhereitleadsforotherpeople.”Ishrug,glancingbetweenhimandthebridge.“ThoughI’ve

noideawhereit’lltakeme.”

Hesquints,headtiltedashestudiesmeslowly,carefully,proceedingwithcautionwhenhesays,“It

leadstotheotherside.Foreveryone.Noseparatelines.Nosegregationofanykind.Leavethatsortof
judgmentfortheearthplane,nothere.”

Ishrug,unconvinced.Hedoesn’tknowwhatIknow.Hasn’tseenwhatI’veseen.Sohowcouldhe

possiblyknowanythingaboutwhatdoesordoesn’tapplytome?

“Even so.” He nods, sensing my thoughts loud and clear. “I’m just not sure you should even be

consideringthatyet.Lifeisshortenoughalready,youknow?Evenonthedayswhenitseemsreally,really
long.Bythetimeit’sallover,it’sreallyjustaflash,ablipineternity,trustmeonthat.”

“Maybeforyou,butnotforme,”Isay,meetinghisgazeinawaysoopenandhonestit’sclearI’m

invitinghimin.Readytospill,confidethewholesordidtale,layitalloutonthetable,everythingI’ve
heldbackallalong—allhehastodoisaskandthefullconfessionishis.“Forme,it’shardlywhatyou’d
callablip.”

Herubshischinandmergeshisbrow,clearlytryingtomakesenseofmywords.
Andthat’sallittakes.Hisdesiretounderstand,anditallcomestumblingout.Everything.Allofit.

A complete and total spillage of words, coming so fast and furious they’re all mumbled and jumbled
together.Stretchingallthewaybacktothatveryfirstdayatthesiteoftheaccident,whenDamenfirstfed
metheelixirandturnedmeintowhatIamnow,tothetruthaboutRoman,whohereallyis,andhowhe

ensuredthatDamenandIcanneverbetogether,aboutAvaandthetwinsandthestrangepastthatconnects
them,howIturnedHavenintoafreaklikeme,aboutthechakrasandhowtargetingourweaknessesisthe
only way to obliterate us, and, of course, I tell him about the Shadowland, the eternal abyss where all
immortalsgo—theonlythingthat’skeepingmeonthissideofthebridge.ThewordsspewingsoquicklyI
can’tstopthem.Don’teventrytostopthem.Sorelievedtounburdenmyself,eggedonbyhiseffortsto
staycalm,tonottotallyfreak,tojustletmecontinuesayingmypiece.

AndwhenIgettothepartaboutRoman,aboutmyhorribleattractiontohim,howtheinsistentdark

flamecontinuestoburnwithinme,andthedegradingmomentIjustbarelyescaped,helooksatmeand
says,“Ever,please,slowdown.Icanbarelykeepitallstraight.”

I nod, my heart racing, cheeks flushing, my arms wrapped tightly around me. My hair clinging in

long,stringy,wetclumpstomycheeks,myshoulders,myback,weighteddownbyheavy,rounddewdrops
thatcontinuetofallwithoutceasing.Watchingasavirtualchoruslineofnewarrivalseagerlymaketheir
waytotheotherside,thebridgedroopingandswayingastheymarchstraightahead,eachoftheireyes
emittingthemostmiraculous,gloriouslight.

“Listen,canwe—gosomeplaceelse?”Henodstowardthelineofpeoplesolong,Iwonderifsome

sortofcatastrophehasjusttakenplace.“I’malittlecreepedoutbyallthis.”

“You’retheonewhodecidedtocomehere.”Ishrug,feelinginexplicablydefensive,nottomention

plaguedbyconfessor’sremorse.Imean,hereIjustexposedmystory,inallitshushed,secretiveentirety,
just laid it all out there in the open for him to see, and all he can say is slow down and let’s split this
scene? I shake my head and roll my eyes. That is hardly the feedback I was looking for. “I mean,
seriously.It’snotlikeIinvitedyoutojoinme,youjustshowedup.”

Helooksatme,undeterredbymymoodswing,hislipsliftingatthecornerswhenhesays,“Well,not

exactly...”

Ipeerathim,wonderingwhatthatmeans.
“Iheardyourdistresscallandcametoinvestigate.Iwaslookingforyou,not—notthis.”
Inarrowmygaze,justabouttorefuteitwhenIremembermyfirstmeetingwiththetwins,ameeting

thatunfoldedinmuchthesameway.

“Iwasn’tgoingtocross,”Isay,cheeksheatinginembarrassment.“Imean,maybeIconsideredit,but

onlyforasecondandnotseriously,well,notreally.Iwasmerelycurious—that’sall.Besides,Ihappen
toknowafewpeoplewholiveoverthereand,well,sometimesImissthem—”

“And so you thought you’d pay them a quick visit?” His tone is light, but the words weigh heavy,

heavierthanhethinks.

Ishakemyheadandgazedownatmymud-coveredfeet.
“So—whatthen?Whatisitthatstoppedyou,Ever?Wasitme?”
Itakeadeepbreath,one,followedbyanother,needingamomentbeforeIliftmygazetomeethis.“I

—Iwasn’tgoingtodoit.Imean,yeah,Iwasalittletemptedandall,butIwould’vestopped—withor
withoutyoushowingup.”Ishrug,myeyessearchinghis.“Partlybecauseit’snotrighttoleavesomuch
undone,somanymistakesforeveryoneelsetocleanup,andpartlybecauseknowingwhatIknowabout
animmortal’ssoulandwhereitendsup,well,nomatterhowmuchImaythinkIdeservenothingless,I’m
notabouttoracetowardthatend.I’veseentheotherside,oratleasttheonemeantforme.AndI’msorry
tosayit,butit’shardlytheplacewheremyfamilywent.I’mafraidifIwanttoseethemagain,I’llhavea
lotmoreluckgoingthroughyouthanIeverwillcrossingthatbridge,nottomention—”

Helooksatme,waiting.
Isighandkickattheground,determinedtoconfessthemostimportantreasonofall,nomatterhow

baditmakeshimfeel,andlookinghimintheeyeandsquaringmyshoulderswhenIsay,“Nottomention

thefactthatIcouldneverdothattoDamen.”MyeyesmeetJude’sbeforeIquicklylookaway.“Icould
never abandon him like that—not after—” I pause, trying to swallow past the lump in my throat. “Not
after all that he’s done for me.” I rub my arms for warmth, though I’m not really cold. Just awkward.
Awkwardanduncomfortable,forsure.

ButJudejustnods,assuringmeitwillallbeokay.Hishandpressedtothesmallofmybackashe

quietlyleadsmeawayfromthebridge,fromthelonglineofsoulshappilyleapingtotheotherside,and
allthewaybacktotheearthplane.

ChapterTwenty-Seven

“So here’s what you do.” He lets the engine idle as he turns toward me. “First, you go inside and

comeclean.”HeliftshisfingertosilencemethesecondIstarttobuttin.“Youjustsityourselfdownand
tellthewholedirtytale—leavenothingout.Becausedespiteyourpreviousexperienceswithher,fromall
thatI’veseen,andallthatI’velearned,you’reingoodhands.Really.She’ssmarterthanyouthink,and
she’sbeendoingthissortofthingformanylifetimesnow.Nottomention,she’sprettymuchtheonlyoneI
canthinkofwho’llactuallybeofanyreal,unbiasedhelp.”

“Howdoyouknowaboutherformerlifetimes?”Iask,asuddenchillblanketingmyskin.“Imean,

otherthanthestuffIalreadytoldyou?”

Helooksatme,holdingthemomentforsolong,I’mjustabouttobreakitwhenhesays,“I’vebeento

theGreatHallsofLearning.Iprettymuchknoweverythingnow.”

Inod,swallowinghard,tryingnottofreak.BecauseeventhoughIjustlethiminonwhatbasically

amountstothemotherlodeofconfessionals,still,it’snotlikeItoldhimeverything.

But he just shrugs, not missing a beat. “And then, when you’re done in there, you need to go to

Damen’s. I don’t care what you tell him, that’s your deal. But you’ve really put him through the ringer
lately,andnomatterhowImayfeelabouthim...”Hestopsandshakeshishead.“Well,justdoit,okay?
You’renotbetteryet—youprovedthattonight,andyouneedhimonyoursidetohelpgetyouthroughit.
It’s the right thing to do. And take some time off work while you’re at it. Seriously, I can handle it.
Besides,Honor’sofferedtofillin,somaybeI’llgiveherthechance.”

Inod,impressedbyhownoblehe’sbeing,takingthehighroadandurgingmetowardhisrivalforthe

lastseveralcenturies.Grippingthedoorhandle,surethatwe’refinishedandabouttoclimbout,whenhe
placeshishandonmyleg,leanstowardmeandsays,“There’smore.”

Iturn,seeinghowserioushe’sgoneashislong,coolfingerssqueezeatmyknee.
“WhileIpromisenottointerfereinyourrelationshipwithDamen,I’mnotabouttobackdowneither.

Fourhundredyearsoflosingoutonthegirlofmydreamsisn’tsittingverywellwithmethesedays.”

“You—youknowaboutthat?”Igasp,myhandflyingtomythroatasmyvoicefades.
“You mean the Parisian stable boy, the British earl, the New England parishioner, and the artist

otherwiseknownasBastiaanDeKool?”Hiseyesmeetmine,twoaquapoolsburningwiththedesireof
hundreds of years. “Yeah.” He nods. “I know all about it. And more.” I shake my head, having no idea
whattosay,whereIcanpossiblygofromhere,hisfingersmovingfrommykneetomycheekwhenhe
says,“Don’ttellmeyoudon’tfeelittoo—Iknowthatyoudo.Icanseeitinyourgaze,inthewayyou
respondtomytouch.Hell,IevensawthewayyoureactedwhenyousawmewithHonorearlier—today

—?” He peeks at his wrist, but since he’s not wearing a watch, he just shrugs and waves it away.
“Anyway,I’mnotintoHonor,notlikeyouthink.It’sstrictlyastudent-teacherthing—afriendship,nothing
more.” He tilts his head as his fingers, the silky soft tips of his fingers, gently glide over my cheek, so
soothing,soenticing,Icouldn’tturnawayifIwanted.“Ihavenointerestinanyoneelse.It’sbeenyouall
along.Andwhileyoumaynotfeelthesamenow,Iwantyoutoknowthatwehavenorestrictions,nothing
to keep us apart. Nothing but you, that is. You’re the one who decides in the end.” He pulls away, the
memory of his touch still lingering, as his gaze burns into mine. “But whatever you decide, there’s no
denyingthis”—hereachestowardmeagain—“isthere?”

Andwhenhelooksatme,hisheadtiltedinawaythatallowsageneroussprayofdreadlockstofall

across his face and over his shoulder, when he lifts that single spliced brow ever so slightly, when his
smileencouragesthosedimplestocomeoutandplay,whenhelooksatmelikethat—it’slikeachallenge
Icannotmeet.

Yes,Ifeelsomethingwhenwetouch.Yes,he’sundeniablysexyandcuteandsomeoneIcancounton.

Yes,onmorethanoneoccasionI’vefoundmyselfjusttheslightestbittemptedbyhim.Butevenafterit’s
addedallup,itstilldoesn’tequalwhatIfeelforDamen.Neverhas.Neverwill.Damen’stheoneforme.
And if I accomplish nothing else on this crazy, insane day, I’ve at least got to be straight with Jude, no
matterhowmuchitmayhurt....

“Jude—”Istart,buthepresseshisfingertomylips,stoppingthewordfromgoinganyfurther.
“Goinside,Ever.”Henods,pushingmyhairoffmyfaceandtuckingitbackbehindmyear,fingers

lingeringafewsecondstoolong,reluctanttoleave.“Makeamends,reverseyourspell,findanantidoteto
theantidote,dowhateveritisthatyouneedtodo.Becausenomatterhowyoufeelaboutme,nomatter
whatchoiceyoumake,attheendoftheday,Ijustwantyoutobehappy.ButIalsowantyoutoknowthatI
haven’t given up—and that I don’t plan on doing so anytime soon. I’m already four hundred years into
this,soImayaswellgothedistance.Andwhilethelastfewcenturiesmaynothaveresultedinavery
fair fight, at least now, with the aid of Summerland, I’m a little more equally equipped. I may not be
immortal, probably wouldn’t ever choose that path for myself, but hey, it’s like they say, knowledge is
power,right?Andnow,thankstoyouandtheGreatHallsofLearning,I’vegotthatinspades.”

Itakeadeepbreathandpushoutofthecarandintoherhousewithoutevenpausingtoknock.And

eventhoughIfailedtocallorwarnherthatIwasonmyway,eventhoughthehandsontheclockpointto
atimethat’swellpasttheusualvisitinghours,I’mnottheleastbitsurprisedtofindAvainherkitchen,
brewingafreshpotoftea,andsmilingwhenshesays,“Hey,Ever,I’vebeenwaitingforyou.I’msoglad
youmadeit.”

ChapterTwenty-Eight

She pushes the plate of cookies toward me, out of habit, without thinking. Shaking her head and

laughingsoftlyunderherbreathasshetriestoyankthemaway,butnotgettingveryfarbeforeIreachout
andsnatchoneoutfromunderthebottom.Creamybeigeincolor,round,bendy,anddecoratedwiththick
squares of sugar all along the top, breaking a piece off the side and placing it onto my tongue,
rememberinghowitusedtobemymostfavoritekind,andwishingIcouldenjoysweets,anyfoodreally,
inthesamewayIusedto.

“Youdon’thavetoeatthemonmyaccount,”shesays,liftinghercuptoherlipsandblowingonher

teaonce,twice,beforetakingasip.“Trustme,thetwinslikethemplentyenoughforbothofus,soIwon’t
beoffendedifyou’renolongerinterested.”

Ishrug,wantingtotellherhowsometimes,whenImissbeingnormal,Igothroughthemotionsof

eatinganddrinkingandbuyingthingsatthestoreinsteadofmanifestingthem,justtoproveIstillcan.But
itdoesn’tusuallylastallthatlong,andlatelyitonlycomesaroundwhenit’slateandI’mtired,andmore
thanalittlelost,asIamnow.Othertimes,Ican’timagineeverwantingtoreturntothatbrandofordinary.

But,instead,Ijustlookatherandsay,“Sohowarethetwins?”Breakingoffanotherbiteofcookie,

rememberinghowitusedtotaste,sweet,rich,delicious,notallcardboardyblandlikethisandknowing
it’smethat’schanged,nottherecipe.

“Youknow, it’s funny.”She sets downher cup and leanstoward me, fingersplaying at her woven

greenplacematasthoughironingitwithherhands.“We’veallsettledinsowellandsoquickly,it’slike
notimehaspassed.Whowould’vethought?”Shegivesahalfsmileandshakesherheadatthewonderof
it. “I know reincarnation is primarily about karma and unfinished business of our past, but I never
dreameditwouldendupquiteso—literal—forme.”

“Andtheirmagick—isitcomingback?”
Shetakesabreath,slowanddeep,fingersreachingforhercupagain,anchoringfirmlyaroundthe

handlebutstoppingjustshortofliftingitwhenshesays,“No.Notyet.Butmaybethat’snotsuchabad
thing.”Sheshrugs.

Ilookather,confusedbywhatthatcouldpossiblymean.
“Well,ithasn’tseemedtoworkoutsowellforyounow,hasit?”
Idropmyhandstomylap,clasping,twisting,pullingatmyfingers,thehunched-over,nervoussight

ofmealoneprettymuchalltheanswersheneeds.

“AndwhileIusedtopracticemagicktoo—well,obviously.”Shedropshertongueoutthesideand

raisesherhandinawaymeanttosignifyanoose,thenburstingintolaughterandwaggingherfingeratme

when I gape. “Oh lighten up.” She smiles, a quick flash of teeth. “No use crying about a past I can’t
change.Eachstepleadsustothenext,andasitstands,thenextstepisrighthere.”Shegivesthetablea
flat-palmedslap.“Becauseofmypastlifeexperiences,becauseyouhelpedmetoaccesstheSummerland,
whereIeventuallygottotheGreatHallsofLearning,I’mmuchmoreabletounderstandthethingsIcould
onlyguessatbefore.”

“Yeah,likewhat?”Isquint,slippingrightbackintomyold,belligerentways,notevengivinghera

chancetospeakherpiecewithoutarudeinterruptionfromme.

But Ava, true to her usual ways, chooses to ignore it, continuing on as though I didn’t even say it.

“I’ve learned that magick, like manifesting, is really just the simple manipulation of energy. But where
manifesting is usually reserved for manipulating matter, magick, in the wrong hands anyway—” She
pausestolookatme,hergazescreamingyourhands!oratleastthat’showitseemstome.“Well,ifnot
practiced correctly, without proper intent, it tends to manipulate people, and that’s where the trouble
begins.”

“Wish the twins would’ve warned me of that,” I mumble, hardly believing I’m blaming them, but

still,thereitis.

“Maybetheyfailedtomentionit,butI’msureDamendidn’t?”Shelooksatme,clearlynotbuyingit

fromthearchofherbrowandtiltofherchin.“Ever,ifyoucamehereforhelp,which,consideringthe
timeandthecircumstances,I’massumingyoudid,thenpleaseallowmetodothat—help.There’snoneed
forexcuses,I’mnotheretojudgeyouinanyway,shape,orform.Youmadeamistake,you’renotthefirst,
and you certainly won’t be the last. And while I’m sure you feel that your particular mistake is
extraordinarily big, insurmountable even, contrary to what you might think, these types of things can
alwaysbeundone,andoftentimesaren’tnearlyaslethalaswethink—or,shouldIsay,asweallowthem
tobe.”

“Oh,sonowI’mallowingit?”Istart,theargumentcomingsoreadily,soeasy,butmyheartisn’tin

it,andIquicklyflashmypalmandwaveitaway.SighingasIadd,“Youknow,forsomeonewhoneeds
helpasoftenasIdo,you’dthinkI’dbealittlebetteratacceptingit.”Irollmyeyesandshakemyhead,
thegesturedirectedatme,nother.

She shrugs, removing an oatmeal cookie from the stack and plopping a raisin into her mouth. “It’s

never easy for the stubborn.” She smiles, her gaze meeting mine. “But I think we’re past all that now,
right?”Seeingmynodofconsent,andforgingaheadwhensheadds,“Thethingis,Ever,withbothmagick
andmanifesting,it’stheintentthatmattersmost—theresultthatyou’refocusingon.Yourintentionisthe
most important tool you have at your disposal. You’re familiar with the Law of Attraction, right?” She
looksatme,runningherhandoverhersilkysleeve.“Thatweattractthatwhichwefocuson?Well,it’sno
differenthere.Whenyoufocusonwhatyoufear—yougetmoreofwhatyoufear.Whenyoufocusonwhat
youdon’twant—yougetmoreofwhatyoudon’twant.Whenyoufocusonattemptingtocontrolothers—
youattractmoreofbeingcontrolled.Yourattentiontothembringsmoreofthem,andmorelikethem,into
your life. Imposing your will upon others in order to persuade them to do something they’re normally
unwillingtodo—well,notonlydoesitnotworkbutitalsohasawayofboomerangingrightbackatyou.
Resultinginkarma,aseveryactiondoes,onlythisisn’tthekindthatworksinyourfavor,unlessyou’reup
forlearningafewveryimportantlessons,thatis...”

But even though she continues to talk, my mind is still stuck on that part about karma, about it

boomeranging back. Remembering how the twins said something similar, something like: It’s wrong to
usemagickforselfish,nefariousreasons.There’skarmatopay,andit’llcomebacktimesthree.

Iswallowhardandreachformytea,herwordsglancingovermewhenshesays,“Ever,youmust

understandthatallofthistimeyou’vebeenresistingintheveryworstway.Resistingagainstme,whenI

triedtohelpyou,resistingagainstDamenwhenhegrewconcernedforyou,resistingagainstRomanand
thehorriblethingshe’sdonetoyou—”Sheliftsherhand,seeinghowI’mabouttorefutethatlastoneand
silencingmewithoneraisedfingerwhenshesays,“Andthethingaboutresistance,theironyofitis,you
end up spending so much time and energy focusing on the things you’re resisting, the things you don’t
want,thatyouendupattractingexactlythosethings.”

Ilookather,notsurethatIfollow.AmInotsupposedtoresistagainstRoman?Imean,hel-lo,look

whatjusthappened,orwhatalmostjusthappened,whenIalmostallowedmyselftogivein.

Shesquareshershoulders,placingherhandsoneithersideofhercupwhenshemeetsmygazeand

beginsagain.“Everythingisenergy,right?”

SoI’veheard.
“Soifyourthoughtsareenergy,andenergyattracts,thenallofyourthoughtsaboutallofthethings

you fear the most—well, you’re actually making them happen. You’re manifesting them into existence
simply by obsessing over them. Or, more simply put, and, as it happens, very apropos for you, as the
alchemistssaid:‘Asabove,sobelow,aswithin,sowithout.’”

“That’s simply put?” I shake my head and swirl my tea around and around. She may as well be

speakingintonguesforallIunderstood.

Shesmiles,hereyespatient,kind.“Whatitmeansisthatwhat’sinsideuswillalsobefoundoutside

ofus.Thatourinnerstatesofconsciousness,thethoughtsthatwefocuson,willalwaysbereflectedinour
outerlives.There’snoescapingit,Ever,itjustis.Butwhatyoufailedtorealizeisthatthemagickisn’t
outthere—it’snotinthehandsofthegoddessorthequeen—it’sinhere.”Shethumpsherfistagainsther
chest,gazingatmeasherwholefacelifts.“TheonlyreasonRomanhasanypoweroveryouisbecause
you gave it to him—you handed it right over! Yes, I know he tricked you, and yes, I know how he’s
keepingyoufromevertrulybeingwithDamen,andyes,thatmustbeunimaginablyhorrible,butifyou’ll
juststopresistingwhatalreadyis,ifyoujuststopfocusingonRomanandtherottenthingsthathe’sdone,
you’ll be able to break this awful bond you’ve built with him. And soon, after a decent amount of
meditationandcleansing,hewon’tbeabletobotheryouanymore—notevenclose.”

“Buthe’llstillhavetheantidote—he’llstill—”Istart,butit’snouse,Ava’sonarollandshe’snot

finishedyet.

“You’reright.Hewillstillhavetheantidote,andhe’llprobablybereluctanttogiveittoyou.But

thatisasituationyoucannotchange.Andyourobsessingoverit,andweavingallmannerofspells,won’t
change it either. In fact, it’ll only make it worse. By doing that, you’ve made him the focus of your
universe,theexactresultyoudidn’twant,andtrustme,Romaniswellawareofthis.Heworkshardto
stealyourfocus,it’swhateverynarcissistwants.So,ifyoutrulywanttoresolvethisandgetyourlife
backontrack,thenjuststop.Stop focusing your energy on the things you don’t want. Stop putting your
energyintoRoman.Justrefusetoevengothereandseewherethatleads.”Sheleanstowardme,tucking
her wavy, auburn hair back behind her ear. “My guess is, once he sees you happily adapting to your
situation,livingyourlifeandenjoyingyourselvesdespiteyourlimitations,he’llgrowboredofthegame
andgivein.Butlikethis,thewayyou’rehandlingitnow,youmayaswellbehand-feedingprimeribtoa
tiger,you’reonlysatisfyinghismostprimalneed.Thebeastisinsideyou,Ever,becauseyouputitthere.
Buttrustme,youcanridyourselfofitjustaseasily.”

“How?” I shrug, understanding everything she just said, I mean, once she explained it, it all made

perfectsense.AndyetIcanstillfeelthathorrible,insistentpulsethrummingjustunderthesurface,and
it’skindofhardtobelieveit’sjustasimplematterofchangingmyfocus.“WhenItriedtoreverseit,it
justmadeitworse.Then,whenIappealedtoHecateforhelp,itseemedtoworkforalittlewhile,but
then, just now, when I saw Roman again—” The color rises to my cheeks as my whole body heats,

horrified to remember what almost became of me. “Well, let’s just say I discovered it hadn’t gone
anywhere,itwasaliveandkickingandreadytoparty.AndwhileIgetwhatyou’resaying,atleastIthink
Ido,Ican’tseehowsimplychangingmythoughtsisevergoingtohelp.Imean,Hecate’sincharge,not
me,andI’venoideahowtogethertostepdown.”

But Ava just looks at me, her voice lowered when she says, “But that’s where you’re wrong.

Hecate’snotincharge,youare.You’vebeeninchargeallalong.AndthoughIhatetosayit,becauseI
knowhowuncomfortableitalwaysmakespeopletohearit,themonsterisn’tsomeforeignbeingthat’s
founditswayinyou,itisn’tademonicpossessionoranythinglikethat—it’syou.Themonsteristhedark
sideofyou.”

Itiltbackinmyseatandshakemyhead.“Great,that’sjustgreat.Soyou’resayingmyattractionto

Romanisforreal?Nice,Ava,thanksforthat.”Isigh,loudly,audibly,andgrantheranice,dramaticeye
rolltogowithit.

“Toldyouitnevergoesoversowell.”Sheshrugs,provingshe’sprettymuchimmunetomyinsolent

reactions by this point. “But you must admit that, superficially speaking anyway, he is stunning, quite
gorgeousreally—”Shesmiles,practicallybeggingmetoagree.Butwhenitgoesunmet,shejustshrugs
againandsays,“Butthat’snotwhatImeant.Youknowabouttheyinyangsymbol,right?”

I nod. “The outer circle represents everything, while the black and white parts represent the two

energies that cause everything to happen.” I shrug. “Oh, and they each contain a small seed of each
other...”Isquirminmyseat,suddenlysensingwherethisisheadedandnotsureifI’mreadytotagalong.

“Exactly.” She nods. “And believe me, people are no different. For example, let’s say you have a

girl, she’s made a few mistakes”—her eyes meet mine—“and she’s so down on herself, feeling so
undeservingofalltheloveandsupportthat’sbeingoffered,sosureshehastogoitalone,makeamends
onherterms,herway,andultimatelybecomingsoobsessedwithhertormentor,sheendsupcuttingoffall
thosearoundher,soshehasmoretimetoconcentrateontheonepersonshedespisesthemost,channeling
all of her attention on him, until, well, obviously I’m referring to you and you know how it ends... my
pointis,eachofushasashadowofdarkness,everysingleoneofus,noexceptions.Butwhenyoufocus
soheavilyonthedarkside,well,we’rebacktotheLawofAttractionagain—likeattractslike—hence
yourmonstrousattractiontoRoman.”

“A shadow of darkness?” I look at her, having heard something similar, just a few hours before.

“Youmeanlike—ashadowself?”

“Sonowyou’requotingJung?”Shelaughs.
Isquint,havingnoideawhothatis.
“Dr.CarlJung.”Shelaughs.“Hewroteallabouttheshadowself,basicallysayingit’sthepartofus

thatisunconsciousandrepressed,thepartsweworkhardtodeny.Where’dyouhearit?”

“Roman.”Iclosemyeyesandshakemyhead.“He’salwaystenstepsaheadofme,andhebasically

saidthesamethingyoudid,thatthemonsterwasme.ItwasprettymuchhisfinaltauntbeforeIfledthe
scene.”

Shenods,holdingupherfingerandclosinghereyes.“LetmeseeifIcan—”
AndthenextthingIknowshe’sbalancinganoldleatherbookinherhands.
“How’dyou...?”Ilookather,eyeswide,jawdropped.
Butshejustsmiles.“EverythingyoucandoinSummerlandyoucandoheretoo,youknow?Aren’t

youtheonewhotoldmethat?Butitwasn’tinstantmanifestationlikeyouthink,itwasmerelytelekinesis
—Isummoneditfrommybookshelfintheotherroom.”

“Yeah,butstill...”Igapeatthebook,amazedbyhowquicklyshewasabletoretrieveit.Amazedby

howshe’smasteredsomanythings,andyetshestillchoosestolivelikethis—nice,comfortable,butstill

pretty simple by the usual, opulent, coastal Orange County standards. Narrowing my gaze as I look her
over again, seeing how she’s stuck with the chunk of raw citrine on the simple silver chain over the
elaborate gold and jewels she always wore in Summerland, despite the fact that she can now have
whatevershewants.AndIcan’thelpbutwonderifshereallyhaschanged.Ifmaybeshe’snotthatsame
oldAvaIonceknew.

Sheshiftsinherseat,settingthebookdownbeforeherandskippingtojusttherightpage,herfinger

tracingthelineasshereads,“Everyonecarriesashadow,andthelessitisembodiedintheindividual’s
consciouslife,theblackeranddenseritis...Thepsychologicalrulesaysthatwhenaninnersituationis
not made conscious, it happens outside as fate... forms an unconscious snag, thwarting our most well-
meantintentions...andsoon.”Shesnapsitshutandlooksatmewhensheadds,“OrsosaysDr.CarlG.
Jung,andwhoarewetorefutehim?”Shesmiles.“Ever,whetherornotwereachourfullpotentialand
fulfillourtruedestiniesisuptous.It’scompletelyofourownmaking.RememberwhatIsaidearlier—as
within,sowithout?Whatwethinkabout,whatweconcentrateon,willalways,always,bereflectedon
the outside. So I ask you, what do you want to concentrate on? Who do you want to become from this
pointforward?Howdoyouwantyourdestinytounfold?You’vegotapath,apurpose,andthoughI’veno
idea what that is, I’ve got this uncanny feeling it’s something powerful and big. And though you’ve
wanderedabitoffcourse,ifyou’llletme,Icanleadyoubacktothetrail,allyouhavetodoissaythe
word.”

I gaze down at my teacup, the broken pieces of cookie, knowing that everything I’ve done so far,

everyingloriouslyill-advisedmove,hasledmebackhere.BacktoAva’skitchen.ThelastplaceIever
thoughtI’dreturnto.

Tracing my finger around and around the rim of the saucer, weighing my choices, which are

admittedlyfew,andliftingmygazetomeethersasIsmileandsay,“Word.”

ChapterTwenty-Nine

BeforeIcanknock,Damenisthere.Butthen,he’salwaysbeenthere.AndImeanthatbothliterally

andfiguratively.He’sbeentherethelastfourhundredyearsjustashe’stherenow,feetbare,robehanging
open,hairtousledinaninsanelyappealingway,peeringatmefromaheavilylidded,sleepygaze.

“Hey,”hesays,hisvoicethick,rough,newtotheday.
“Heyyourself.”Ismile,movingrightpasthimandstartingforhisstairs,graspinghishandinmineas

Ipullhimalong.“Youreallyweren’tkiddingaboutalwaysbeingabletosensemewhenI’mnear,were
you?”

Hetightenshisfingersaroundmine,usingtheonesonhisfreehandtopushthroughhisglossytangle

ofhair,tryingtotameit,makesenseofit,butIjustsmileandurgehimtokeepitthatway.It’ssorareI
seehimlikethat,drowsy,scruffy,alittledisheveled,andIhavetosay,Ikindoflikeit.

“Sowhatgives?”Hefollowsmeintohisspecialroom,scratchinghischinashewatchesmefawn

overhiscollectionofveryoldthings.

“Well,forstarters,I’mbetter.”IturnmybackontheveryseriousPicassoversionofhiminfavorof

themuchcuter,waysexier,realversionofhim.MygazemeetinghiswhenIadd,“Imean,Imaynotbe
totally and completely there yet, but I’m definitely headed in the right direction. If I stick with the
program,itshouldn’ttakelong.”

“Program?”Heleansagainsttheoldvelvetsetteeashisgazesailsoverme,studyingmesoclosely,I

can’thelpbutrunmyhandsovermydress,quickly,self-consciously,thinkingIshould’veatleasttaken
thetimetomanifestsomethinglessrumpled,somethingnewandcute,beforerushingoverlikeIdid.

ButIwassopumpedfrommytalkwithAva,andtheseriesofhealingandcleansingmeditationsshe

putmethrough,well,Icouldn’twait.Couldn’twaittotellhim—tobewithhimagain.

“Ava’sgotmeonasortof—cleansingfast.”Ilaugh.“Onlyit’sthementalkind,notthegreenteaand

twigskind.Shesaysit’llmakeme—well—”Ishrug.“Better,wholeagain,newandimproved.”

“But—Ithoughtyouwerebetteryesterday?Oratleastthat’swhatyoutoldmeinSummerland.”He

cockshishead.

I nod, determined to focus on my earlier trip with him, and not the one that followed that horrible

scenewithRomanwhenIranintoJude.“Yeah,but—nowIfeelevenbetter—stronger—justlikemyold
self.”Ilookathim,knowingIhavetoadmitthisnextpart,it’spartofthecleansingritual—comingclean,
making amends, not so different from your typical twelve-step program, but then, I wasn’t so different
fromanyotheraddictstrugglingwithahorribleaddiction.

“AvasaysIwasaddictedtonegativity.”Iswallowhardandlookathim,forcingmyselftokeephis

gaze.“Itwasn’tjustthemagickorRoman.Accordingtoher,Iwasaddictedtothinkingaboutmyfears,
aboutallthebadthingsinmylife,like—youknow,likemybaddecisions,andourinabilitytoreallybe
together, and, well, stuff like that. And that by doing that, by focusing on all that, I actually ended up
attracting—um, all kinds of darkness and sadness and—well—Roman, which resulted in me cutting off
thepeopleIlovemost.Likeyou,forinstance.”

Iswallowhardandmovetowardhim,partofmybrainshouting:Tellhim!Tellhimwhatreallyled

youtothisconclusion.WhathappenedwithRoman—justhowdarkandtwistedyougot!

Whiletheotherpart,thepartIchoosetolistento,says:You’vesaidplentyenoughalready—timeto

moveon!Thelastthinghewantsarethedisgustingdetails.

Hemovestowardme,reachesformyhandsandpullsmeclosetohim,answeringthequestioninmy

gazewhenhesays,“Iforgiveyou,Ever.I’llalwaysforgiveyou.Iknowyouradmittingtoallthiswasn’t
easy,butIreallydoappreciateit.”

Iswallowhard,knowingthatnowismychance,myverylastchance,thatit’sfarbetterhehearit

frommethanfromRoman.ButjustasI’maboutto,herunshishanddownmybackandthethoughtmelts
away,untilallIcanfocusonisthefeelofhim,thewarmthofhisbreathonmycheek,thesoftalmostfeel
ofhislipsatmyear,theamazingsensationoftingleandheatthatcoursesallthewayfrommyheadtomy
toes.Hislipsfindingmine,pushing,pressing,asthatever-presentshieldhoversbetweenus.ButI’mdone
withresentingit,donewithpayingitanynoticeatall.I’mdeterminedtocelebratethingsjustastheyare.

“WannagomakeoutinSummerland?”hewhispers,onlyhalfjoking.“YoucanbethemuseandIcan

betheartist,and—”

“Andyoucankissmesomuchyouneveractuallyfinishthatpainting?”Ipullawayandlaugh,buthe

justpullsmebacktohim.

“But—I’ve already painted you.” He smiles. “The only painting of mine that truly matters.” Then

seeingmyquizzicallook,headds,“Youknow,theonethat’ssomewhereintheGettyaswespeak?”

“Ahyes.”Ilaugh,rememberingthatmagicalnight,whenhepaintedaversionofmesobeautiful,so

angelic,IwassureIdidn’tdeserveit.ButI’mdonethinkinglikethat.IfwhatAvasaysisright,iflike
attractslikeandwaterreallydoesseekitsownlevelandallthat,thenI’dmuchratherreachforDamen’s
level than Roman’s, and here’s where I start. “It’s probably in some underground lab, in some high-
security, windowless basement, where hundreds of art historians are gathered for the sole purpose of
studyingit,tryingtodeterminewhopaintedit,andwhereitcould’vepossiblycomefrom.”

“Youthink?”Hegazesintothedistance,obviouslyenjoyingtheidea.
“So,”Imurmur,pressingmylipstohisjaw,asmyfingersplayatthesilkycollarofhisrobe.“When

dowegettocelebrateyourbirthday?AndhowwillIeverpossiblytopthepresentyougaveme?”

He turns his head and sighs, the kind of sigh that comes from somewhere down deep, and I don’t

meanphysically,butemotionally.It’sasighfilledwithsadnessandregret.It’sthesoundofmelancholy.

“Ever,youdon’tneedtoconcernyourselfwithmybirthday.Ihaven’tcelebratedabirthdayofmine

since—”

Since his tenth. Of course! That horrible day that started off so good and ended with him being

forcedtowatchhisparentsgetmurdered.HowcouldIforget?

“Damen,I’m—”
Istarttoapologize,buthewavesitaway,turninghisbackandheadingfortheVelázquezpaintingof

him astride the rearing, white stallion with the thick, curly mane. Fiddling with the corner of the
oversized,ornate,giltframeasthoughitdesperatelyneedsadjustingeventhoughit’sclearthatitdoesn’t.

“No need to apologize,” he says, still unwilling to look at me. “Really. I guess marking the years

doesn’tfeelquitesoimportantafteryou’velivedthroughsomanyofthem.”

“Willitbethatwayforme?”Iask,havingahardtimenotcaringaboutabirthday,orevenworse,

forgettingwhichdayitfallson.

“Iwon’tletitbethatwayforyou.”Heturns,facelightingupashetakesmein.“Everydaywillbea

celebration—fromhereonout.Ipromiseyouthat.”

Buteventhoughhe’ssincere,eventhoughhemeansjustexactlythat,Istilllookathimandshakemy

head. Because the truth is, as committed as I am to clearing my energy and only focusing on the good,
positivethingsthatIwant,lifeisstilllife.It’sstilltough,complicated,andmorethanalittlemessy,with
lessonstobelearned,mistakestobemade,triumphsanddisappointmentstobehad,andnoteverydayis
meanttobeaparty.AndIthinkIfinallyrealize,finallyacceptthatthat’sperfectlyokay.Imean,fromwhat
Isaw,evenSummerlandhasitsdarkside,itsownversionofashadowself,asmalldarkcornerinthe
midstofallthatlight—oratleastthat’showitappearedtome.

Ilookathim,knowingIneedtotellhim,wonderingwhyIhaven’tmentionedityet,whenmyphone

rings,andwelookateachotherandshout,“Guess!”Agamewesometimesplaytoseewhosepsychic
powersarestronger,faster,andwe’reonlyallowedonesecondtoanswer.

“Sabine!” I nod, logically assuming she woke up, found my bed empty, and is now calmly going

aboutdiscoveringwhetherI’vebeenabductedorleftofmyownfreewill.

ButlessthanafractionofasecondlaterDamensays,“Miles.”Buthisvoiceisn’tatallplayful,and

hisgazegoesdarkandworried.

I pull my phone from my bag, and sure enough, there’s that photo I took of Miles in full-on Tracy

Turnbladdrag,strikingaposeandbeamingatme.

“Hey, Miles,” I say, met by an earful of buzz, hum, and static, the usual transatlantic phone call

soundtrack.

“DidIwakeyou?”heasks,hisvoicesoundingsmall,distant.“CuzifIdid,well,begladyou’renot

me.Mybodyclock’sbeenscrewedupfordays.IsleepwhenIshouldbeeating,andeatwhenIshouldbe
—Well,strikethat,sinceit’sItalyandthefoodisamazing,Iprettymucheatallofthetime.Seriously.I
don’tknowhowthesepeopledoitandcontinuetolooksosmokin’.It’snotfair.Acoupledaysoftheold
dolcevitaandI’mapudgy,bloatedmess—andyet,I’mlovin’it.I’msoserious.It’samazinghere!So,
anyway,whattimeisitthere?”

Iglancearoundtheroom,butnotfindingaclockIjustshrugandsay,“Um,early.You?”
“Ihave no idea,but probably afternoon.I went to thisamazing club lastnight—did you know you

don’t even have to be twenty-one to go to a club or drink here? I’m telling you, Ever, this is the life.
TheseItaliansreallyknowhowtolive!Anyway,well,I’llsaveallthatforlater—forwhenIgetback—
I’llevenreenactitforyouandeverything,Ipromise.Butfornow,thecostofthiscallisalreadygiving
mydadacoronary,I’msure,soI’lljustgettoitandsaythatyouneedtotellDamenthatIstoppedbythat
placeRomantoldmeaboutand—hello?Canyouhearme—areyouthere?”

“Um, yeah, I’m still here. You’re breaking up a little, but, okay, you’re good.” I turn my back to

Damen and move several steps away, mostly because I don’t want him to witness the horrible mask of
dreadthat’sdisplayedonmyface.

“Okay,soanyway,IstoppedbythatplaceRomanwasgoingonandonabout,infact,Ijustleftafew

minutesago—and,well,Igottatellyou,Ever,there’ssomereallyfreakystuffinthere.AndImeanreally
freaky.Like,someone’sgotlotsofexplainingtodowhenIreturn.”

“Freaky—how?”Iask,feelingDamen’spresencehoveringrightbehindmenow,hisenergyshifting

fromrelaxedtofull-scalealert.

“Just—freaky.That’sallI’mgonnasayaboutit,but—crap—canyouhearme?I’mlosingyouagain.

Listen,just—ugh—anyway,Isentsomephotosviae-mail,sowhateveryoudo,donotdeleteitwithout

seeingthemfirst.Okay?Ever?Ever!Stupid—damn—phon—”

Iswallowhardandpressend,feelingDamen’shandonmyarmwhenhesays,“Whatdidhewant?”
“Hesentmesomephotos,”Isay,voicelow,eyesneveronceleavinghis.“Somethinghereallywants

ustosee.”

Damen nods, arranging his features into an expression of determined acceptance, as though the

momenthe’sbeenwaitingforhasarrived,andnowhe’sjustanticipatingthefallout,toseehowIreact,to
seehowmuchdamagehasbeendone.

Iclicktothehomepage,thenovertomail,watchingasthelittleconnectingswirlgoesaroundand

arounduntilMiles’se-mailisdisplayed.Andthen,theseconditpopsup,Ijustholdmybreathandtapit
—mykneesgoingallwobblytheverymomentIseeit.

Thepicture.
Or rather, the picture of the painting. Photography wasn’t yet invented back then, wouldn’t be

inventedforseveralhundredmoreyears.Butstill,thereitis,flauntedbeforeme,andthere’snomistaking
it’shim.Them.Posingtogether.

“Howbadisit?”heasks,bodyperfectlystillashiseyesgrazeoverme.“AsbadasIexpected?”
Iglanceathim,butonlyforasecondbeforeI’mfocusingbackonthescreen,unwillingtotearmy

eyes away. “Depends on what you were expecting,” I mumble, remembering how I felt that day in
SummerlandwhenIspiedonhispast.Howsick,howcompletelygreenwithenvyIwas,whenitgotto
thepartwherehehookedupwithDrina.Butthis—thisisn’tanythinglikethat.Infact,notevenclose.Oh
sure, Drina is stunning—Drina was always stunning, even at her ugliest and most vicious she was
breathtaking,oratleastontheoutsideanyway.AndI’msurenomatterwhatdecadeshewasin,beitthe
eraofbustlesorpoodleskirts,I’msureshewasstunningthentoo.Butthefactis,Drina’sgone,sogone
thatthethoughtofher,thesightofher,doesn’treallybothermeanymore.Infact,itdoesn’tbothermeat
all.

What bothers me is Damen. The way he stands, the way he gazes at the artist, and how—how

arrogantandvainand,well,fullofhimselfheis.Andeventhoughhecarriesatraceofthatoutlawedge
thatIlike,thisisn’tquitesoplayfulaswhatI’musedto.It’salotlesslet’s-ditch-school-and-bet-at-the-
trackandalotmorethis-is-my-world-and-you’re-just-lucky-I-let-you-live-in-it.

And the more I gaze at the two of them, Drina sitting demurely in a straight-backed chair, hands

foldedneatlyinherlap,dressandhairadornedwithsomanyjewelsandribbonsandshinythings,it’d
lookridiculousonanyoneelse—whileDamenstandsbehindher,onehandrestingonherchair,theother
hanging by his side, his chin tilted, brow arced in that cool, haughty way—well, there’s just something
abouthim—somethingaboutthatlookinhisgazethat’s—well—almostcruel,ruthlesseven.Likehe’dbe
willingtodowhateverittakes,whateverthecost,togetwhathewants.

And even though he’s made plenty of mention of his “before picture” of his former, narcissistic,

power-hungryself—it’sonethingtohearaboutit,it’squiteanothertoseeitsoclearlydisplayed.

But even though there are three more portraits attached, I only give them the most cursory glance.

MilesisonlyinterestedinthefactthatDamenandDrinawerecapturedoncanvashundredsofyearsago,
and that in each passing portrait, some of them painted centuries apart according to their plaques, they
somehow manage to remain young, beautiful, and eerily unchanged. He could care less about Damen’s
demeanor,thewayhecarriedhimself,thelookinhiseyes—no,thatwasmysurprise.

IhandthephonetoDamen,seeingthewayhisfingerstrembleeversoslightlywhenhetakesitfrom

me, glancing quickly through the pictures before handing it right back. His voice low and steady as he
says,“I’vealreadyliveditonce,Ireallydon’tneedtoseeitagain.”

Inod,droppingthephonebackinmybag,takingtoolongtoplaceit,obviouslyavoidinghisgaze.

“So,nowyou’veseenhim.ThemonsterIusedtobe,”hesays,hiswordsgoingstraighttotheheart

ofme.

Iswallowhard,droppingmybagontothethicklywovenrug,apricelessantiquethatshouldbeina

museumsomewhere,notusedforthissortofdailywear.Hisstrangechoiceofwordsremindingmeofmy
conversation with Ava—everyone has a monster, a dark side, no exceptions whatsoever. And even
thoughmostpeoplespendtheirwholelivesdeterminedtoburyit,forceitdowndeep,Iguessifyou’ve
livedaslongasDamen,you’reboundtoconfrontitfromtimetotime.

“I’msorry,”Isay,suddenlyrealizingIam.Ithardlymatterswherewe’vebeen.It’swhereweare

nowthatcounts.“I—IguessIwasn’texpectingitandIwasalittletakenaback.I’veneverreallyseenyou
likethat.”

“NoteveninSummerland?”Helooksatme.“NotevenintheGreatHallsofLearning?”
Ishakemyhead.“No,Imostlyfast-forwardedthroughallofthoseparts.Icouldn’tbeartowatchyou

withDrina.”

“Andnow?”
“Andnow—”Isigh.“I’mnolongerbotheredbyDrina—justyou.”Itrytolaugh,trytolightenmy

mood,butitdoesn’tquitework.

“Well, if I’m not mistaken, I think that’s what you’d call progress.” He smiles, pulling me into his

armsandholdingmetightlytohischest.

“AndMiles?”Myeyesgrazeoverhisface,theslantofhisbrow,thesquareofhisjaw,myfingers

scratching at the swath of stubble that grows there. “What are we going to tell him? How do we ever
explainthis?”Myhesitation,myfleetingrejectionoftheoldhim,nowvanishedforgood.Ourpastmay
shapeus,butitdoesn’tdefinewhowebecome.

“We’regoingtotellhimthetruth.”Henods,voicefirm,asthoughhereallydoesmeanit.“Whenthe

timecomes,we’lltellhimthetruth.Andwiththewaythingsaregoing,itwon’tbemuchlongernow.”

ChapterThirty

“Okay, so now, what I want you to do is to focus on feeding your energy. Cleansing it, lifting it,

acceleratingittogreaterandgreaterspeeds.Thinkyoucandothat?”

I squinch my eyes shut and concentrate. The accelerating part’s always been the hardest for me.

RememberingwhenJudetriedtocoachmetodothesamethingsoIcouldseeRileyagain.Butnomatter
how hard I tried, my energy remained just stagnant enough, just bogged down enough, just muddled
enough, to pick up on the thoughts and images of a smattering of earthbound entities, and not the ones
who’vecrossedover,theonesIwantedtosee.

“WitheveryintakeofbreathIwantyoutoimagineabeautiful,healing,shimmeringwhitelightfilling

youup,startingatyourcrownanddriftingallthewaydowntoyourtoes.Andthen,witheachexhale,I
want you to imagine all that leftover negativity, any doubts, anything that serves the word can’t leaving
youforgood.Imagineitasathick,mucky,clumpy,clottedstreamofgraydrudgeifyouwant—thatalways
seemstoworkforme.”Shelaughs,hervoicelikeasmile.

Inod,andsincemyeyesareclosed,Icanonlyimaginethetwinsarenoddingtoo.Theirapproachto

AvaisprettymuchthesameastheirapproachtoDamen—completeandtotalidolization,willingtodo
whatevershesays.Andwhiletheyweren’ttoothrilledaboutTheBookofShadowsbeingbanishedfrom
their lesson plan, even after I shared my own cautionary tale of magick gone wrong, showing them just
howastraythingscangowhentheintentgetsabitcloudedandgoodjudgmentisoverruledbyobsession,
theywastednotimeinpointingoutthatthey’dneverbeasstupidasme.Wouldneverpracticeanykindof
ritualonadarkmoon.Wouldonlytrytomanipulatematterandnevertheactionsofanotherhumanbeing.
ButAvaheldfirm,whichiswhywe’reallbacktoenergycleansingandmeditatingagain.

And even though I’m going along with the plan, picturing the white light streaming all the way

through me, while banishing the negative crud that tends to build up inside—even though in just a few
weeks of doing this I’ve already seen a tremendous difference in the way that I look, feel, and, almost
more important, in the way I can manifest and communicate telepathically with Damen again—even
though I know that taking part in this group meditation only serves my own best interests and will help
steermetowardtheultimatedestinationIwanttoreach—evendespiteallthat,mymindkeepswandering
backtoyesterdayatthebeach,whenItookthedayofffromworktohangoutwithDamen.

Wespreadourtowelsoutnexttoeachother,soclosetheedgesoverlapped.Addingamountainof

unreadmagazinesbymyside,acustomized,newlymanifestedsurfboardbyhis(sincetheoldonebroke
to pieces in the unfortunate cave collapse from a few weeks back), along with some chilled bottles of
elixir,andaniPodwepassedbackandforthbutmostlyIlistenedto.Thetwoofusdeterminedtoenjoy

thesummerwehadbothanticipatedbuthadyettoexperience.Thetwoofuslookingforwardtoalong,
relaxingdayatthebeach,justlikeanyothercouple.

“Surf?”hesaid,risingfromhistowelandgrabbingholdofhisboard.
ButIjustshookmyhead.Asfarassurfinggoes,it’sbetterforeveryoneifIjuststayputandwatch

fromafar.

SoIdid.Watchingasheheadedofftowardthewater,raisingmyshouldersandshiftingmyweight

ontomyelbowsashemovedacrossthesandsoswiftlyandeffortlessly,Iwonderedifanyoneelsewasas
mesmerizedbythesightofitasIwas.

Mygazestillfocusedonhimashedroppedhisboardintotheoceanandbegantopaddleout,turning

whatwasonceaseriesofprettyho-hum,semi-flatwavesintoasuccessionofnearperfectbarrels.Fully
contenttoignoremymagazinesandiPodinfavorofwatchinghim,untilStaciacameupbesideme,tucked
her long, newly highlighted hair back behind her ear, hitched her designer beach bag higher up on her
shoulder,andloweredhersunglassesontoherfaceasshesaid,“Jeez,Ever,whitemuch?”

I swallowed hard, breathed in and out, blinked a few times, but that’s it. I gave no indication of

havingseenorheardher.Iwasdeterminedtoignoreher,determinedtoactasthoughshewasinvisibleto
me,andkeepDameninfocus.

She stood beside me, making little tsking sounds of disgust as she harshly looked me over, but it

wasn’t long before she tired of the game and moved on, shuffling down the sand and settling in
somewherenearthewaterbutstillwithinperfectviewingdistanceofme.

And that’s when I let myself do it. That’s when I went against everything Ava has taught me about

empowering myself by tuning her, and everyone else like her, out, in favor of my own, more positive,
upbeat soundtrack. That’s when I let her words replay in my head as my eyes raked over my body and
agreedshewasright.EventhoughjustafewminutesbeforeI’dfeltgoodaboutthewayIlooked,thrilled
thatmyformerlyunhealthy,emaciatedbodywasnownicelyfilledoutagain,there’snogettingaroundthe
fact that I was white—glaringly white—a white that definitely required the wearing of sunglasses and
thatcouldonlybedescribedaspasty.Andwhenyoufactorinthelightblondhairandthewhitebikini—
thetruthis,itwasn’tpretty.Imayaswellhavebeenaghost.

AndIwassofargonebythatpoint,soconvincedofhernegativeviewofme,ittookawhole,long

sessionofthosedeepcleansingbreathsAva’ssofondoftogetridofit.Butevenso,Iwasn’twillingto
letitgocompletely,andIwatchedassheandHonorwhisperedbackandforth,watchedasStacialaughed
loudly, dramatically tossing her hair all around and swiveling her head from side to side, continually
checkingtoseewhowasnoticingherbutalwayscomingbacktome,smirking,eyerolling,shakingher
headindisgust,andprettymuchdoingwhatevershecouldtoshowmejusthowrevoltingshefoundme.
And even though it would’ve been easy enough to tune in, focus my quantum remote, and hear all the
wordsthatwereandweren’tbeingsaid,that’swhenIdecidedtostop.

EventhoughIwasdefinitelytempted,especiallyafterknowingallaboutHonor’splanstooverthrow

Stacia,andstageherownsenior-yearsocialcoup—nottomentionher“amazing,”well,accordingtoJude
anyway,progressinhisPsychicDevelopment101class,catchingonsoquicklyandeasily,masteringso
manytechniqueshe’sswitchedtoone-on-onesessionswherehetutorsherexclusively—butstill,despite
allthat,Ididn’tdoit.Didn’teavesdrop.FiguringI’llbegettingplentyofthatwhenschoolstartsagain.
Instead,IswitchedmyfocustoDamen,enjoyingthewayhemaneuveredthroughthewatersogracefully,
soelegantly,thewayhepracticallyglistenedinthesun.Astartlingarrangementofbronzedskin,smooth
roundedmuscles,andjaw-droppinggoodlooksashecameoutofthewater,boardtuckedunderhisarm,
andheadedforme.

Immune to Stacia’s hard, glinting stare, her high-pitched, saccharine-sweet greeting as he passed,

droppedhisboardontothesand,andtrailedlargedropsofsaltywetnessontomybellyashebentdown
tokissme.Ignoringthewayshewatchedsointently,soclosely,notmissingabeatashesettledinbeside
meandkissedmeagain,thatveilofenergyhoveringbetweenus,keepingussafe,butinvisibletothem.

Or,atleastthat’swhatIthought,untilIliftedmyheadtoseethewayHonorwaslooking,mostlyat

him.HergazeremindingmeofStacia’s—lingering,longing,butalso,oratleastinhercaseanyway,filled
withagreatdealofknowingandseeingaswell.

Andwhenhereyesmetmine,andIsawthesmilethatformedonherlips,asmilethatflashedand

vanished so quickly, I wondered if I really had seen it. Left only with a lingering sense of dread as I
turnedawayfromherandbacktowardDamen—

“Ever? Yoo-hoo?” Ava calls, as Romy giggles and Rayne mutters under her breath. “Are you still

withus?Stillenjoyingyourcleansingbreaths?”

Andjustlikethat,mymemoryofthebeachcollapsesandI’mbackinAva’shouseagain.
Ishakemyhead,mygazemeetinghersasIsay,“Um—no,IguessIgotalittledistracted.”
ButAvajustshrugs,she’soneofthoseniceteachers,therearenodemeritsinherclass.“Ithappens,”

shesays.“Anythingwecanhelpyouwith?”

IglanceatRomyandRayne,shakingmyheadwhenIsay,“No.I’mgood.”
Watchingassheliftsherhandshighoverhead,stretchingfromsidetoside,leisurely,languorously,as

shelooksatmeandsays,“Whatdoyouthink?Youwanttogiveitatry?”

Ipressmylipstogetherandshrug.NotsureifI’llgetinbutreadytogiveitago.
“Good.Ithinkit’stime.”Shesmiles.“Wouldyoulikecompany,orwouldyourathergoitalone?”
Iglanceatthetwins,seeingthewaytheystudytheirfeet,thepicturesonthewalls,thehemoftheir

dresses,anythingbutme.ThelastcoupleattemptstogetthemtoSummerlandhavefailed,andnotwanting
toriskmakingthemfeelbadlyagain,Isay,“Um,IthinkI’llgoitalone,ifthat’sokaywithyou.”

Avalooksatme,hergazeholdingmineforamomentbeforeshepressesherpalmstogether,bows

herhead,andsays,“Haveasafetrip,Ever.Godspeed.”

HerwordsstillechoinginmyheadasIbypassthevastfragrantfieldandlandsmackinfrontofthe

Great Halls of Learning. Brushing myself off as I rise to my feet, feeling ready, cleansed, totally and
completelywholeagain,andhopingwhoever’sinchargeofadmittancewillagree.

Hopingtheever-changingfaçadewillmakeitselfvisibletome.
Iclamberupthesteps,unwillingtowasteevenasecond,unwillingtoallowanytimefordoubtto

move in. Gazing up at the grand building before me, the imposing columns, grand sloping roof, and
gasping in relief as it begins to shimmer and change. Transforming itself into all of the world’s most
beautiful,sacredplaces,asthedoorsspringopenforme.

I’min!
I’mback.
Makingmywayacrosstheshinymarblefloors,pastthelonglineoftablesandbenchesthathouse

rowafterrowofspiritualseekers.Eachofthemhoveringovertheirsquarecrystaltablets,eachofthem
searchingforanswers.Andsuddenly,IrealizeI’mnotsodifferentfromthem,we’reallhereforthesame
reason—we’reallonsomekindofquest.

SoIclosemyeyesandthink:
Firstofall,thankyouforgivingmeasecondchanceandallowingmeback.IknowImessedup

forawhilethereandgotabitofftrack,butnowthatI’velearnedafewthings,IpromiseIwon’tmess
upagain—oratleastnotlikethat.Butstill,thetruthis,myquesthasn’tchanged.Istillneedtoget
thatantidotefromRomansothatDamenandIcan—well—betogether.AndsinceRomanisthekey—
theonlyonewhohasaccesstoit,Ineedtoknowhowtohandlehim,howtoapproachhiminaway

that’ll get me what I need but without—well, without manipulating him or—or casting spells—or
getting caught up like that again. So, um, I guess what I’m trying to say is, I need to know how to
approach him. I don’t really know where to go from here, and, well, if you could help me with this,
providesomekindofclue,showmewhateveritisyouthinkIneedtoknowinordertodealwithhimin
justtherightway—well,I’dreallyappreciateit.

Iholdmybreath,holdperfectlystill,awareofadistantwhir,asoft,swirlysoundwhooshingaround

me,andwhenIopenmyeyes,Ifindmyselfinahall.Notthesamehallasbeforewiththeinfiniterunner
andthehieroglyphicBrailleonthewall,thishalliswider,shorter,morelikeawalkwaythattakesyouto
yourrowofseatsinanindoorstadiumorconcerthall.AndwhenIgetthere,whenIreachtheend,Isee
thatIaminastadium,asortofindoorcoliseum,onlyinthisparticularone,there’sonlyoneseat,andasit
justsohappens,it’sreservedjustforme.

Isettlein,unfoldingtheblanketbesideme,andplacingitontomylap.Gazingaroundatthewalls,

thecolumns,allofitappearingold,crumbly,asthoughitwasbuiltlongago,backinancienttimes,and
wonderingifI’mexpectedtodosomething,makethefirstmove,whenacolorful,shimmeringhologram
appearsrightbeforeme.

Ileantowardit,squintingatanalmosthallucinatoryimageofafamily—themotherpale,feverish,

flatonherbackandwrackedwithgreatpain,screaminginagony,beggingforGodtojusttakeher,not
even getting a chance to hold the son she’s just birthed before her wish is granted, she heaves her last
breath,andmoveson.Hersoultravelingupward,onward,asherbaby,thetiny,kicking,newlybornbaby
iscleanedandswathedandhandedtoafatherwho’stoobusygrievingforhisdeadwifetopayhimany
notice.

Afatherwhoneverstopsgrievingforhiswife—andwhoblameshissonforherloss.
Afatherwhoturnstodrinktonumbthepain—andthentoviolencewhenthatfailstowork.
Afatherwhobeatshispooryoungsonfromthetimehe’soldenoughtocrawl,untilthedaywhen,in

a drunken stupor, he starts a fight with someone much bigger and stronger, a fight he cannot win. His
battered,bloodiedbody,leftinanalleyway,beatenbeyondrepair,butstillsmilinghislastbreath,when
thesweetreleasehe’ssoughtallalongfinallyarrives.Leavingbehindahungry,abandonedchildthatsoon
becomesawardoftheChurch.

Achildwithsmootholiveskin,largeblueeyes,andagoldencropofcurlsthatcouldonlybelongto

Roman.

Could only belong to my nemesis, my enemy, my eternal antagonist whom I can no longer hate.

WhomIonlyfeelpityforafterwatchinghow,youngerthantheothersandsmallforhisage,hestrugglesto
fitin,toplease,tobenoticedandloved,onlytogofrombeinganoverlooked,ignored,andabusedson,to
everyone’sservant,everyone’sfavoritewhippingboy.

EvenwhenDamenmakestheelixirandurgesthemalltodrinktosparethemfromtheravagesofthe

BlackPlague,Romanisthelasttobeserved.HavingcompletelyoverlookedhimuntilDrinabroughthim
forward,insistingthelastdropsbesavedforhim.

And even though I make myself stay until the end, watching hundreds of years of his growing

resentmenttowardDamen,hundredsofyearsofhisloveforDrinabeingdeniedagainandagain,hundreds
ofyearsofhimbecomingsostrong,andsoaccomplished,hecangetanythingoranyonehewantsexcept
theonethinghewantsthemost—theonethingIrobbedhimofforever—eventhoughIwatchallofthat—I
didn’tneedto.

Thebeastwasbornsixhundredyearsago,whenhisfatherbeathim,whenDamenoverlookedhim,

when Drina was kind to him. Sure he could’ve lived differently, made better choices, if only someone
would’veshownhimtheway.Butyoucan’tgiveawaywhatyoudon’thave.

Andwhenthehologramends,whentheimagesdisappear,andthelightsgodim,Iknowwhattodo.
Withoutbeingtold,Iknowexactlyhowtoproceed.
SoIrisefrommyseat,giveasilentnodofthanks,andmakemywaybacktotheearthplane.

ChapterThirty-One

WhenIpullintothedriveandpark,I’lladmittoafleetingbutstillmajorfeelingoftrepidation.My

mindspinningwithquestionslike:ShouldIreallybedoingthis?WillIevengetachancetodothis?Or
willshetossmerightoutlikelastyear’sEmolook?

Realizing I won’t know until I try, I take a moment to calm myself, to get centered, to summon my

strengthfromwithin,andfillmyselfwiththatbright,radiant,healinglightjustlikeAvataughtmetodo.
Tappingmyamuletjustundermydressonceforgoodmeasure,Ihopoutofthecarandheadforthedoor.
Havingnoideaifsheevenstilllivesherenowthatshe’ssuper-charged,infinite,withthewholeworldat
herfeet,butfiguringit’sthebestplacetostart.

“Hi.” I smile, peering over the housekeeper’s shoulder, relieved to see that from here anyway,

everythingseemstolookprettymuchthesame,whichmeansit’sinitsusualstateofchaosanddisorder.
“IsHavenhere?”Iadd,myvoicehopeful,asthoughwillinghertosayyes.

She nods, opening the door even wider and motioning up toward Haven’s room as I bolt up the

stairs,following the waveof her fingersand allowing no timefor turning backor second-guessing as I
standjustoutsidethedoorandknocktwice.

“Whoisit?”shecalls,clearlyannoyed,asthoughthelastthingshewantsisavisitor.AndwhenI

tellherit’sme,well,Icanonlyimaginehowthatgoesover.

“Well,well,”shepurrs,crackingthedoorjustenoughtoconfirmit,hereyesreallyrakingmeover

withoutlettingmein.“ThelasttimeIsawyou—youweretryingto—”

“Attack you.” I nod, figuring I’d surprise her by admitting it, openly, freely, with no holding back.

“Aboutthat—”Istart,butshe’snotabouttoletmefinish.

“Well,actually,Iwasgoingtosay,seducemyboyfriend.Butyeah,cometothinkofit,theonlyone

yougotphysicalwithwasme.”Shesmiles,butit’snotthenice,happykind,nope,farfromit.“Sotellme,
Ever,whatbringsyouhere?Eagertofinishthejob?”

Ilookather,keepingmygazeasopenandhonestanddirectasIcanwhenIsay,“No,notatall.I

actuallycameherehopingtoputanendtoallthis—toexplainandcallatruce.”Wincingatmyuseofthe
word,rememberingthelasttimeIuseditwithRomanandhowitdidn’tgooversowell.

“Atruce?”Sheliftsabrowandcocksherhead.“You?EverBloom?Thegirlwhopretendedtobe

mybestfriend,stolemycrushrightoutfromunderme—um,hel-lo,Damen?”shesays,shakingherhead
inresponsetomylookofconfusion.“Ifyou’llremember,Icalleddibsonhimlongbeforeyou,butstill,
youjustdoverightoninandscoopedhimrightoutfromunderme,which,fine,whatever,itallworked
outintheend,Iguess,butstill.Andthen,evenafterallthat,onceyouseeminglyhaveeverythingaperson

could ever want, apparently that just isn’t enough for you and so you decide to go after Roman too,
becauseapparentlyonesmokin’hotimmortaljustisn’tenough.Oh,andyou’resosingle-mindedinyour
quest, you decide you’ll try to kill me if that’s what it takes to get to him. But now, you’ve suddenly
sufferedadramaticchangeofheart,leadingyoutojustshowupatmybedroomdoorandaskforatruce?
Isthatright?Isthatwhat’sreallyhappeninghere?”

Inod.“Basically,butthere’salotmoretoitthanthat,somethingyouneedtoknow.Becausethetruth

is,ItriedtoputaspellonRoman—aspellthatwouldmakehimdomybiddingandgivemewhatIwant.
Onlyittotallybackfiredandendedupbindingmetohiminawaythat—well,inawayIstilldon’tfully
understand.”Iscrunchmynoseandshakemyheadatthememoryofit.“Butthat’stheonlyreasonIdid
whatIdid.Iswear.ThemagicktookcontrolandIwasn’tinmyrightmind.Itwasn’treallymethatwas
doingthosethings—oratleastnotentirely.”Ishakemyhead.“Iknowitsoundscrazy,andit’snotallthat
easytoexplain,butit’slikeIwasbeingcompelledbyaforceoutsidemyself.”Ilookather,willingherto
believe.“Iwasn’tincharge.”

She looks at me, head tilted, a single brow lifted. Smirking as she says, “A spell? You seriously

expectmetobelievethat?”

Inod,carefullyholdinghergaze.Willingtoconfessthewholesordidtale,whateverittakestoget

her to trust me again. But not here. Not in the hall. “Listen, do you think maybe I could—?” I gesture
towardtheinsideofherroom.

She frowns, eyes narrowed to slits as she takes her time to consider. Opening the door just wide

enoughformetosqueezethroughwhenshesays,“Justsoyouknow,youmakeonemoveIdon’tlikeand
sohelpmeGodIwilltakeyoudownsofastyouwon’tevenknowwhathit—”

“Relax,”Isay,ploppingontoherbedjustliketheolddays,onlythisisnothingliketheolddays,not

even close. “I’m feeling very nonviolent today, I assure you. In fact, I’m feeling very nonviolent pretty
mucheverydayfromnowon,andIhavenointentionofgoingafteryouinanyway.AllIwantispeace
andthereturnofyourfriendship,butfailingthat,I’llsettleforatruce.”

Sheleansagainstherdresser,armsfoldedtightlyacrosstheblackleathercorsetshewearscinched

overherantiquelacedress.“Sorry,Ever,butafterallwe’vebeenthrough,it’sjustnotthateasy.Ihaveno
reasontotrustyou,andI’mgonnaneedalittlemoreassurancethanthat.”

Itakeadeepbreathandrunmyhandoverheroldfloralbedspread,surprisedshehasn’tchangedit

bynow.“Trustme,”Isay,lookingather.“Igetit,Ireallydo.But,Haven”—Ipause,shakingmyheadand
startingagain—“thetruthis,Ican’tstandwhat’shappenedtous.Imissyou.Imissourfriendship.AndI
hateknowingit’spartlymyfault.”

“Partly?”Shebalks,rollinghereyesandshakingherhead.“Um,excusemeforsayingso,butdon’t

youthinkthatstatementwouldbealittlemoreaccurateifyouadmittedtoallofitbeingyourfault?”

Ilookather,lookherstraightintheeyewhenIsay,“Fine,I’llconcedetomostofit,butcertainlynot

allofit.But,Haven,thepointis—whileIdon’tlikeRoman—andbelievemeIhavemyreasons—Iget
thathe’syourboyfriend,andIgetthatnomatterwhatIsayabouthimIcan’tchangeyourmind,soI’mnot
gonnatry.AndIknowyoufindthathardtobelieve,especiallyafterwhatyousawtheothernight—butthe
thingis—well—likeIsaidbefore,thatwasn’treallyme.”

“Ohright—itwasthatpeskyevilspell.”Sheshakesherheadandrollshereyes,butIdon’tletthat

stopme.

“Listen,Iknowyoudon’tbelieveme,andIknowhowcrazyIprobablysoundrightnow,butIthink

that considering the circumstances, you of all people should know that the craziest-sounding things are
oftentrue.”

She looks at me, mouth twisted to the side, a sure sign she’s not just discarding but actually

consideringmywords.

“We’reonthesameside,youandI—andIhopethatintime,you’llseethattoo.Trustme—I’mnot

trying to stand in the way of your happiness. And I would never try to steal someone you wanted for
yourself—despitehowitmayhavelooked.Ijust—well,I’mjusthopingthere’sstillsomewayforusto
befriendsagain,somewaytomendourfriendship,inspiteofallthat’shappened.Imean,Iknowitwon’t
bethesame.Ihardlyexpectittobeafterallwe’vebeenthrough,andIknowyou’rereallybusywithyour
job,andhangingoutwith—um—thoseotherimmortals...”Isay,temporarilyforgettingtheirnames.

“Rafe,Misa,andMarco,”shemumbles,clearlyannoyed.
“Yeah, them. But still, school’s starting up in a few weeks, and Miles will be back soon, and I

thoughtmaybe,Imean,noteverydayifyoudon’twant,butmaybeeverynowandthen,wecouldallsit
togetheratlunch.Youknow,likeweusedto.”

“So,it’salunchtimetruce?”shesays,hereyesakaleidoscopeoftortoiseshellswirlsfixedfirmlyon

mine.

“No.”Ishakemyhead.“It’sanallthetimetruce.I’mjusthopingit’llextendtotheoccasionallunch

too.”

Shefrowns,pickingathercuticles,which,Iknowforafact,arenotatallraggedbecauseimmortals

donotgethangnails.Ialsoknowit’sanexcusetoavoidme,avoidmygaze,makemewonderandwait
whileshetakeshertimetoconsidermywords.

“Itcanneverbelikeitwas,”shefinallysays,liftinghergazetomeetmine.“Andnotjustbecauseof

everythingthathappenedwithRoman—whichwasseriouslymessedup,bytheway.Buttherealreason
wecan’tgobackisbecauseI’mdifferentnow—andthethingis,Ilikebeingdifferent.Idon’twanttogo
backtothewayIwas.Idon’twanttobethatsad,patheticlosereveragain.”

“Youwereneverpatheticoraloser—justabitsadattimes,”Isay,butshequicklywavesitaway.
“Besides,somuchhaschanged—maybetoomuch—I’mnotsureIcangetpastallofthat.”
Inod.Irealizethistoobutstillhopethatshecan.
“And yeah, Misa, Rafe, and Marco are cool and all, don’t get me wrong, but other than our

immortality,andourworkatthestore,wereallydon’thaveallthatmuchincommon,youknow?Imean,
wehavetotallydifferentbackgrounds,totallydifferentreferences,they’veneverevenheardofmostofmy
favoritebands,whichreallykindofbugsme.”

Ishrugandnod,likeIgetit,totallyandcompletelygetit.
“AndeventhoughIneverreallyfeltlikeyouandIhadallthatmuchincommoneither,Ididalways

feel like you sort of got me, you know? Like maybe you couldn’t exactly relate to me, but still, you
acceptedme,youdidn’tjudgeme,and,well,itmeantalot—oritmeantsomething,anyway.”

Ipressmylipstogetherandwaitfortherest,knowingshe’sfarfromdoneyet.
“Soyeah,I’vemissedyoutoo.”Shelooksatme,shruggingwhensheadds,“It’llbenicetokeepat

leastonefriendfortherestofeternity.Butareyousurewecan’tturnMilestoo?”

“No!”Iblurt,beforeIrealizeshe’sjoking.
“Jeez, do you ever unclench?” She laughs, uncrossing her arms and dropping onto her leopard

beanbag chair in a heap of leather and lace, spreading her dress all around her before resting her head
againstherhand.“Couldhelpwiththeactingstuffthough—he’ddefinitelysnagallthebestroles.”

“Andthat’sgoodforhowlong?”Ilookather.“Trustme,eveninHollywoodpeoplewouldstartto

noticehowheneveragedadayovereighteen.”

“Didn’tseemtohurtDickClark.”
Isquint,havingnoideawhothatis.
“America’sOldestTeenager?NewYear’sRockin’Eve?”

Ishrug,stillnobells.
“Whatever.” She laughs and shakes her head. “Anyway, I have this theory that there’s a whole lot

moreofusthanwethink,actors,supermodels—Imean,seriously?Howdoyouexplainsomeofthem?”

Ishrug.“Luck,goodgenes,plasticsurgery,andlotsandlotsofPhotoshop.”Ilaugh.“That’showI

explainit.”

“Well,betweenyouandme,Roman’snotalwaysallthatforthcomingwiththedetails.Hetendsto

holdalotback.”

Nokidding.
“Thisonetime,whenIaskedhimjusthowmanymoreofuswereoutthere,andhowmanyhehimself

turned,hejustturnedaway,mumbledsomechildishnonsenseaboutthatbeingforhimtoknowandtherest
oftheworldtofindout,orsomethinglikethat.AndnomatterhowmuchIbuggedhim,that’sallhe’dsay.
JustkeptrepeatingthatoverandoveruntilIgotsoannoyed,Idroppedit.”

“That’swhathesaid?”Iask,tryingtokeepthealarmoutofmyvoicebutnotentirelysucceeding.

“Hesaidit’sforhimtoknowandtherestoftheworldtofindout?”Igasp,notlikingtheominoussound
ofit.Notlikingitatall.

Havenlooksatme,attemptingtobacktrackwhensheseesmyexpression,hearsthewaymyvoice

rises,andrealizesshemight’vegonejustatadtoofar.Thatherloyaltiesnolongerextendtomeandare
definitelybalancedinRoman’sfavor.“Ormaybehesaidformetofindout?That’showthesayinggoes,
right?”Sheliftshershoulderasherfingerspickatthelaceonhersleeve.“Well,anyway,it’sprobably
betternottotalkaboutRomansinceIlovehimandyouhatehimandifwewanttobefriendswe’regoing
tohavetoexistinaRoman-freezone,right?We’regoingtohavetoagreetodisagree.”

ARoman-freezone—howlovely!Butthat’sjustwhatIthink,whatIsayisentirelydifferent.
“Doyoulovehim?”
Shelooksatme,looksatmeforalongmoment,beforeshedipsherheadandsays,“Ido.Ireally,

reallydo.”

“And is it—reciprocated?” I ask, doubting Roman’s even capable of loving anyone, especially

seeinghowitwasnevershowntohim,neverreallyofferedinanyrealorlastingway,accordingtowhatI
saw. And it’s pretty hard to give something you’ve never experienced yourself. Even what he felt for
Drinawasn’tlove,oratleastnottherealkindanyway.Itwasmoreanobsessionwithsomethingjustout
ofreach,likeashining,glitteringobjectthatyouyearnforbutcanneverquitetouch.Exactsamefeeling
he’stryingtoduplicatewithDamenandme.Onlyitwon’twork.Withorwithouttheantidotehe’llnever
winthatone.WhatDamenandIsharegoesmuchdeeperthanthat.

“Honestly?”Shelooksatme.“Ireallydon’tknow.ButifIhadtoguess,thenI’dsay,no,hedoesn’t

—doesn’tlovemeatall.Imean,eventhoughhekeepshisfeelingsunderwraps,usuallypretendinglike
he doesn’t even have any—sometimes—sometimes he goes off on this—well, I call it his dark jag—
wherehelockshimselfinhisroomandwon’ttalktoanybodyorcomeoutforhours—and,well,Ihaveno
ideawhathe’sdoinginthere.AndeventhoughItrytorespectit,trytolethimhavehisspace,I’mstill
reallycurious.Though,Ifigure,ifIhangonlongenough,he’llfinallylearntotrustme,letmein,and”—
sheshrugs—“changeallofthat.”

Ilookather,amazedbyhowcomposedsheis,actingfarmoreself-assuredthansheeverdidbefore.
She gazes down at the strategically shredded black leggings she wears under her dress, fingers

picking at one of the holes when she says, “You know, Ever, in every relationship, there’s always
someonewholovesmore,right?Imean,lasttime,withJosh,itwashim.Hedefinitelylovedmefarmore
thanIdidhim.Didyouknowheevenwroteasongaboutmeafterwebrokeup,inanattempttogetme
back?”Sheliftsherbrowandshakesherhead.“Itwasprettygoodtoo,andIwasflatteredforsure,butit

wastoolateandI’dalreadymovedontoRomanwhoIclearlylovemore.Hejustagreestohangoutwith
me,andwehaveagoodtime,andit’snotlikethere’sanyothergirlonthescene—well,otherthanyou—”
She looks at me, her eyes narrowed in a way that makes me cringe, but just as quickly she laughs and
wavesitaway.“Butthepointis,nomatterwhatyouthink,nomatterhowitmaylookfromtheoutside,the
truth is, it’s never really equal. That’s just not the way it works. There’s always the pursued and the
pursuer, the cat and the mouse, that’s just how it goes. So, tell me, Ever, who loves more in your
relationship—Damenoryou?”

Thequestioncatchesmeoffguard,eventhoughit’sprettyobviousitwascoming.ButwhenIseethe

wayshepauses,headtiltedtotheside,fingerstwirlingarandomchunkofhair,patientlywaitingformeto
respond,Iendupmumblingabunchofjumblednonsensethatfinallyresultsin,“Well,um,Idon’tknow.I
neverreallythoughtaboutit,Iguess.Imean,Ineverevenreallynoticed,forthatmatter—”

“Really?” She shifts onto her back and gazes up at her star-spangled ceiling that I know from

experienceglowsinthedark.“Well,Ihave,”shesays,gazestillfocusedontheconstellationoverhead.
“Andjustsoyouknow,it’sDamen,notyou.Damen’stheonewholovesmore.He’ddoanythingforyou.
You’rejustalongfortheride.”

ChapterThirty-Two

IwishIcouldsayHaven’swordsdidn’tbotherme.ThatIwasablenotjusttorefuteitbuttopleada

case so convincing she was instantly swayed to my side. But the truth is, I didn’t do or say much of
anything. I just shrugged, pretending to brush it off, as she blasted a series of songs from her iPod I’d
never even heard before, by bands I didn’t even know existed, and we flipped through a pile of
magazines,thetwoofushangingoutinthesamewayweusedto.Justlikeoldtimes.Butthat’sjusthowit
seemedonthesurface.Deepdown,webothknewthingswereentirelydifferent.

ThenafterIleft,whileIwashangingatDamen’s,Haven’swordskeptreplayinginmyhead,asking

me which of us loved more. And to be honest, they’ve pretty much stayed with me today as well. All
through my breakfast with Sabine, I wondered, all through shelf restocking and register ringing at the
store,Iaskedmyselfwasitmeorhim?Eventhroughallthreeback-to-backreadingsthat“Avalon”was
scheduledfor,includingtheoneI’mfinishingnow,thequestionkeptrepeatinginmyhead.

“Wow, that was—” She looks at me, eyes wide with wonder. “That was truly, truly, truly

remarkable.”Sheshakesherheadandreachesforherpurse,facewearingablendofexcitement,doubt,
andalongingtobelieve—theusualpost-readinglook.

I nod, smiling politely while gathering up the deck of Tarot cards I spread out for show but don’t

reallyuse.It’sjusteasiertohavesomekindofproportool—keepsitmoreremoteanddetachedthatway.
Most people get pretty freaked by the idea of someone being able to peer straight into their heads and
listeninonalltheirdeepestthoughtsandfeelings,nevermindhowonebrieftouchcanrevealalongand
complexhistoryofevents.

“It’s just—you’re so much younger than I expected. How long have you been at this?” she asks,

slingingherpurseoverhershoulderashereyescontinuetostudyme.

“Being psychic is a gift,” I say, even though Jude specifically asked me not to say that, figuring it

would discourage potential students from signing up for his psychic development class. But since the
coursehasprettymuchfizzleddowntojusthimandHonor,Ireallydon’tseewhatharmitcoulddo.“It
knows no age limit,” I add, mentally urging her to quit gaping at me and move it along. I’ve got plans,
somewhere to be. My evening carefully designed down to the minute, and if she lingers much longer,
she’llseriouslymesswithmyagenda.Butseeingalookofskepticismstarttocreepin,Itellher,“That’s
why children are such naturals at it, they’re open to all the possibilities. It’s only later, when they
discoverhowsocietyfrownsonthesethingsthatthedesiretobeacceptedtakesoverandtheyshutitall
out.Whataboutyou?Didn’tyouhaveanimaginaryfriendasakid?”Mygazemovesoverher,knowing
shedidbecauseIsawitthemomentItouchedher.

“Tommy!” She gasps, hand clamped over her mouth, surprised that I knew, surprised that she just

blurtedthatout.

I smile, having already seen it myself. “He was real to you, right? Helped you through some hard

times?”

Shelooksatme,eyesgoingwideassheshakesherheadandsays,“Yes—he—well—Iusedtohave

nightmares.” She lifts her shoulders and gazes around as though embarrassed to be confessing all this.
“Backwhenmyparentsweredivorcing,well,everythingwassounstable,financially,emotionally,and
that’swhenTommyappeared—andhepromisedtohelpmegetthroughit,tokeepallthemonstersaway
—andhedid.IthinkIstoppedseeinghimaroundthetimeIturned—”

“Ten.”Irisefrommyseat,avisualindicationthatthissessionisoverandsheshoulddothesame.

“Which,tobehonest,isalittleolderthanmost,butstill,youdidn’tneedhimanymoreandsohe—went
away.”Inod,openingthedoorandgesturingherintothehallwhereshe’llhopefullyheadonovertoward
theregisterandpay.

Onlyshedoesn’theadfortheregister.Instead,sheturnstomeandsays,“Youhavegottomeetmy

friend. Seriously. She’ll flip. She doesn’t really believe in this stuff, in fact, she made fun of me for
coming, but we’re having dinner later, a double date, and, well—” She pauses to glance at her watch,
grinningatmewhenshesays,“Well,actually,sheshouldbeherenow,ifnotsoon.”

“I’dloveto.”IsmilelikeIreallydomeanit.“ButIhavetobesomewhereand—”
“Oh,that’sheroverthere!Perfect!”
Isighandgazedownatmyfeet,wishingIcouldusemymanifestingskillstomakepeoplepayupand

disappear—oratleastjustthisonceanyway.

Sensingmyplansareabouttobepushedbackevenfurther,buthavingnoideahowmuchfurtheruntil

shecupsherhandsaroundhermouthandcallsout,“Sabine!Hey,overhere,I’vegotsomeoneyou’vejust
gottomeet!”

Mywholebodygoescold.Frozen,solid,andcold.Like:Hello,iceberg,meettheTitanic kind of

cold.

AndbeforeIcanstopit,beforeIcandoanythingaboutit,Sabineisheadingrighttowardme.Atfirst

notrecognizingmeasme,andnotbecauseI’mwearingthatblackwig,becauseI’mnot,Igavethatupa
longtimeagowhenIdecideditmadeAvalonlooklikeafreak,butbecauseI’mprettymuchtheabsolute
last person she ever expected to see. In fact, she’s still squinting and blinking even after she’s standing
rightbeforemewithMunozatherside,who,bytheway,looksjustaboutaspanickedasIfeel.

“Ever?” Sabine gazes at me as though she’s just awoken from a very deep sleep. “Wha—” She

shakesherheadasthoughtoclearitofcobwebsandstartingalloveragain.“Whatonearthisgoingon
here?Idon’tunderstand.”

“Ever?”Herfriendglancesbetweenus,hereyessquinched,darting,suspicious.“But—butIthought

yousaidyournamewasAvalon?”

Itakeadeepbreathandnod,knowingit’sallovernow.Mycarefullycraftedlifeoflying,hiding,

andsecrethoardinghasresultedinthis.“ItisAvalon.”Inod,avoidingSabine’sgaze.“But,it’salsoEver
—depending.”

“Dependingonwhat?”myclientsquawks,asthoughshe’sbeenpersonallyanddeeplyoffendedand

wronged. Her aura suddenly flaming, wavering, as though she doubts not only me but everything I just
spentthelasthourtellingher,nomatterhowspot-onmypredictionswere.“Justwhotheheckareyou?”
shesays,lookingatmeasthoughshe’sabouttoreportmeto—well,shehasn’tdecidedyet—butsomeone,
someonewillgetareport,that’sforsure.

But Sabine’s back on her game, her voice calm, collected, and just a tad attorney-like, when she

says,“Ever’smyniece.Andapparentlyshehasalottoexplain.”

And just as I’m about to do just that—well, not explain exactly or at least not in the way that she

wants—butstill,justasI’mabouttosaysomethingthat’llhopefullycalmeveryonedownandputanend
toallthis,Judemakeshiswayoverandsays,“Everythinggoallrightwithyourreading?”

I glance at my client, Sabine’s friend, knowing that with my energy now so improved, so super-

chargedwiththecleansingandhealingmeditationsAva’sbeenputtingmethrough,itwasoneofmybest
readingsever—andyetIfailedtopredictthis.Butalsoseeinghowreluctantsheistopayforitnow,now
thatsheknowsmeasherfriend’sjuveniledelinquentniecewhomoonlightsasAvalon,theShadyPsychic
Reader,Idon’tevengiveherthechancetorespond,Ijustjumpinandsay,“Uh,noworries,thisone’son
me.”Judesquints,hiseyesdartingbetweenus,butIjustnodfirmlyandadd,“Seriously.Noworries.I’ve
gotitcovered.”

Butwhilethatseemstosettletheclient,ifnotJude,itdoesn’tdomuchforSabinewhoseauraisin

anuproarandwhoseeyesareseverelynarrowedonmine.“Ever?Don’tyouhavesomethingtosayfor
yourself?”

I take a deep breath and meet her gaze. Yeah, I’ve got plenty to say but not here and not now.

There’ssomeplaceIneedtobe!

AndI’mjustabouttosaysomethingtothateffect,onlynicer,gentler,inawaythatwon’tpissheroff

anymorethanshealreadyis,whenMunozjumpstomyaidandsays,“I’msureyoutwocandiscussthisin
themorning,butfornow,wereallyshouldgo.Wedon’twanttorisklosingourreservationafteritwasso
hardtoget.”

Sabinesighs,concedingtothewisdominMunoz’sargumentbutstillunwillingtoletmeoffthehook

quitesoeasily.Thewordscomingfrombehindclenchedteethwhenshesays,“Tomorrowmorning,Ever.
I expect to see you first thing in the morning.” Then, seeing the expression on my face, she adds, “No
buts.”

Inod,eventhoughI’venoplanstomakethatappointment.IfthingsgothewayIplan,thentomorrow

morningI’llbeaboutasfarfromthatkitchentableasitgets.Instead,I’llbesprawledoutinasuiteatthe
MontagewithDamenbesideme,thetwoofusfinallyfulfillingthoselong-agoplans...

Butit’snotlikeI’mabouttotellherthat,soinsteadIjustnodandsay,“Um,okay.”Wellawarethat

as a trial attorney, she always insists on a verbal response, that way the meaning can’t be twisted or
misconstrued. And just when I think that the worst is over—or at least for now anyway, she insists I
apologizetoherfriend—asthoughIcommittedsomecrimeagainsther.ButeventhoughIknowI’llpay
foritlater,thatIwon’tdo.

Instead,Ijustlookatherandsay,“NoneofthischangeswhatItoldyouinthere.”Igesturetoward

thebackroom.“Yourpast,Tommy,yourfuture—youknowwhatIsaidistrue.Oh,andaboutthatchoice
youhavecomingup?”Iglancebetweenherandherdate.“Well,asmuchasyoumaydoubtmerightnow,
you’dstillbewisetoheedmyadvice.”

IglanceatSabine,watchingasherauraflaresupinaboutofangerthat’sjustbarelysubduedbythe

presenceofMunoz’sarmslippingtightlyaroundherwaist.Winkingatmeconspiratorially,heturnsher
awayfrommeandoutthedoorastheirfriendsfollowbehind.

Thesecondthey’regoneJudelooksatmeandsays,“Dude,thatwassomeseriouslybadmojothat

just went down in here. I feel like I should smudge the place with some sage to help clear it out.” He
shakeshishead.“Whatgives?Ithoughtyou’dtoldherbynow?”

Ilookathim.“Areyoukidding?Yousawwhatjusthappened.That’sexactlythekindofsceneIwas

hopingtoavoid.”

He shrugs, counting up the cash in the drawer as he says, “Well, maybe it would’ve gone better if

you’dwarnedher,ifshehadn’tfeltsosuckerpunchedwhenshewalkedinandsawyouwereworking
here—givingreadingsnoless.”

I frown, scrounging around in my wallet for the money I owe him for the pro bono reading I just

unwittinglygave.

“Yousureyouwannacoverit?”hesays,refusingtotakeitwhenIofferittohim.
“Please.”Ithrustitathim,seeinghisbrowsliftandknowinghe’sabouttoinsistotherwisewhenI

add, “And keep the change too. Think of it as payment for all the—bad mojo—I caused. Seriously.” I
wave it away. “If that hadn’t happened, who knows, she might’ve become a regular, so, you know, just
lookatitlikepaymentforallthatfuturelostrevenue.”

“I’mnotsosureyoulosther,”hesays,shovingthemoneyinthebankbagandslammingtheregister

shut.“IfyougaveherasgoodareadingasIthink,she’llfindherwayback,oratleasttellsomefriends,
who’llcomeoutofcuriosityifnothingelse.Thatsortofthing’sprettytoughformostpeopletoresist.You
know, straitlaced lawyer takes in scam artist niece who, unbeknownst to her, spends her spare time
moonlightingasaninsanelyaccuratepsychicreader—couldbeabookor,attheveryleast,amovieofthe
week.”

I shrug, taking a moment to touch up what little makeup I wear, peering into my small, handheld

mirrorwhenIsay,“Aboutthat—”

Helooksatme.
“IthinkmydaysasAvalonareover.”
Hesighs,clearlydisappointed.
“Imean,don’tgetmywrong,Ireallyhaveenjoyedit,andtoday,well,upuntilthefiascoanyway,I

feltlikeIwasstartingtogetreallygoodatit—likeIwasabletoreachpeople—helppeople—butnow—
well,maybeit’stimetobringAvabackonboard.Besides,school’sabouttostartupand—”

“Areyouquitting?”Hefrowns,obviouslynotthrilledwiththeidea.
“No.”Ishakemyhead.“No,Ijust,well,obviouslyI’llneedtocutback,andIdon’twanttocause

youanymoreproblemsthanIalreadyhave.”

“Noworries.”Heshrugs.“I’vealreadyputAvabackontheschedule,figuredyou’dhavetocutback

your hours anyway, but, Ever, you can start up again anytime, the clients love you, and I—well—” His
faceflushes.“I’vebeenveryimpressedwithyourperformanceaswell.Asanemployee.”Hepinchesthe
bridgeofhisnose,shakinghisheadandsighingwhenheadds,“Man,I’maboutasfarfromsmoothasit
gets.”

ButIjustshrug,wonderingwho’smoreuncomfortablehere,himorme.
“So, any idea what you’re gonna tell her tomorrow?” he asks, desperate to move on to something

else.

“Nope.”Idropmylipglossintomybagandsnapthebagshut.“Notaclue.”
“Well,don’tyouthinkyoushouldthinkaboutit?Comeupwithsomekindofplan?Youdon’twantto

getcaughtbeforeyou’veevenhadachancetodrinkyourfirstcupofjoe,doyou?”

“Idon’tdrinkcoffee.”Ishrug.
“Fine,elixir,whatever.”Helaughs.“YouknowwhatImean.”
Iheavemypurseontomyshoulderandglanceathim.“Look,don’tgetmewrong,IloveSabine.She

tookmeinwhenIlosteverything,andinreturn,I’vedonenothingbutmakeherlifealivinghellonan
ongoingbasis.AndwhileI’mperfectlywillingtocomeclean,iffornootherreasonthanthefactthatafter
all this, she deserves to hear the truth, or at least some semblance of the truth—it won’t be tomorrow
morning.Notevenclose.”AndeventhoughItrynottosmilewhenIsayit,Ican’thelpmyself.WhenI
thinkofmyplan,myfail-safe,foolproofplan,mywholefacelightsup.

Fornow,allofmyenergy,allofmylight,allofmygoodmojo—asJudeputsit—needstobesaved

upandchanneledexclusivelytowardRoman.I’vegottoextendmylove,peace,andgoodwilltowardhim
becauseapproachinghimthiswayistheonlywayIcanwin.TheonlywayI’llevergetwhatIwant.

If there’s one thing I’ve learned through all this, it’s that resistance never works. Fighting the war

againstwhatIdon’twantonlyservestomanifestthatverything.Andthat’swhyRoman’spoweroverme
weakened when I appealed to Hecate—because I stopped obsessing about it for five minutes and it
startedtodeteriorateasaresult.So,withallthisinmind,Ithinkit’ssafetoassumethatbypouringmy
energiesintowhatIdowant—peacebetweenusandtheroguesalongwiththeantidotetotheantidote—
well,itcanonlyresultinawin.

So,whenIgotohimtonight,itwon’tbeasanenemy,assomeonewhoplanstoconniveandfightto

getwhattheywant.Instead,I’llapproachhimasmyhigherself—thepurest,clearestformofme.

AndthenI’llofferhimthechancetoriseupfromthedepthsandmeetmeonthatverysamelevel.
AndI’msolostinmythoughts,solostintheexcitementofmyplan,atfirstIdon’tevenhearJude

whenhesays,“Whereyouheaded?”Squintingatme,hispsychicradaronitshighestalert.

But I just look at him, unable to keep the smile from my face when I say, “I’m going to go do

somethingIshould’vedonealongtimeago.”PausingwhenIseethewayhisheadtilts,thewayhisbrow
creases,thewayhisaurawaversandflares,andwishingIhadtimetostickaroundandreassurehim,tell
himit’llallbeokay.ButIdon’t,I’vewastedenoughtimealready.So,instead,Ijustlookathimandsay,
“Don’tworry.Thistime,IknowwhatI’mdoing.Thistime,everything’sgonnabedifferent.You’llsee.”

“Ever—”Hereachestowardme,handclawingattheairbeforefallingemptyathisside.
“Noworries.”Ishrug.“Iknowexactlywhattodo.IknowhowtohandleRomannow.”Inod,taking

inhisthicktangleofdreadlocks,seeinghowthelastfewweeksofsummersurfhavelightenedthemtoa
sun-bleachedblond.“Iknowexactlyhowtofixit,exactlyhowtoproceed,”Iadd,seeingthewayhetilts
his head, leans back on the stool, and rubs his chin thoughtfully. His malachite ring glinting before me,
nearlythesameshadeofgreenashistropicalgaze,whichisnarrowed,assessing,tingedwithmorethana
slightbitofworry.ButIjustignoreallofthat.Justbrushitrightoff.ForthefirsttimeinalongtimeI
finallyfeelpowerful,sureofmyself,andIwon’tallowroomforanyonetoplanteventhesmallestseedof
doubt.“IwenttotheGreatHallsofLearning—”Ipause,knowingheneedsmoreconvincingthanjustmy
noddingheadandconfidentword.“And—well,let’sjustsayIgotagoodlead.Averygoodlead.”Ipress
my lips together and hike my purse higher onto my shoulder, knowing I should probably leave the
conversationrightthere.

Helooksatme,rubbinghishandoverthefrontofhisT-shirt,fingerstracingtheblackandwhiteyin

yangsymbolashetiltshisheadandsays,“Ever—I’mnotsosureyoushouldgothatrouteagain.Imean,
ifyou’llremember,lasttimeyouwentface-to-facewithRomanitreallydidn’tworkoutallthatwell,and
Ireallydon’tthinkenoughtimehaspassedforyoutotryitagain.Atleastnotsosoon.”

Iliftmyshoulders,hiswordsglancingovermelikeoilmeetingwater,havingnoeffectwhatsoever,

which,fromtheexpressiononhisface,onlyseemstoworryhimmore.“Noted,”Isay,tuckingmyhair
behindmyear.“Buthere’sthething—I’mdoingitanyway.I’mgoingin.Onelasttime.Sotospeak.”

“When?Now?Areyouserious?”Helooksatme,browsmerged,gazelockedonmineinawaythat

givesmepauseforconcern.

Isquaremyshouldersandfoldmyarmsacrossmychest,meetinghisgazewhenIsay,“Why?You

planningtofollowmesoyoucantrytostopme?”

“Maybe.”Heshrugs,notevenpausingwhenheadds,“I’lldowhateverittakes.”
“Whateverittakesto—whatexactly?”Icockmyhead,challenginghimwithmygaze.
“Keepyousafe.Keepyoufromhim.”

Itakeadeepbreathandlookathim,andImeanreally look at him. Starting from the top of those

dreadlocks and moving all the way down to his waist where, because of the counter, my view of him
ends.“Andwhywouldyoudothat?”Ifinallysay,gazereturningtomeethis.“Whywouldyoueventhink
oftryingtointerferewithmyplan?Ithoughtyouwantedmetobehappy—evenifthatmeansmybeing
withDamen?Oratleastthat’swhatyoutoldme.”

Herubshislipstogetherandshiftsonhisseat,amovesoawkward,soclearlyuncomfortable,Ifeel

badforsayingit.Iwenttoofar.Justbecausewe’vespilledourheartsinthepast,sharingmorethanwe
probablyshouldhavedoesn’tmeanIhavetherighttoquestionhimortoexploitwhathetoldme.Doesn’t
meanIshouldinsistonananswerwhenthequestionobviouslypainshim.Butstill,somethingaboutthe
wayhejustshifted,notjustphysically,butenergeticallytoo,leavesmewondering,guessing—leavesme
justthetiniestbitunsure...

Iturn,headingforthedoorashefollowsbehind,aroundtothealleywayoutbackwherewe’veboth

parkedourcars.

“I’mmeetingupwithHonorlater—youwanttodropby?YoucanbringDamenifyouwant,Iwon’t

mind.”

Istopandlookathim.
“Well,Imightmind,butI’llputonagoodshow—scout’shonor.”Heraiseshisrighthand.
“So,you’rehangingwithHonor?”Isay,watchingasheopensthedriver’ssidedoorofhisoldblack

Jeepandclimbsin.

“Yeah,youknow,yourfriendfromschool,theonewhocametoyourbirthdayparty?”
Istarttotellhimthatshe’snotmyfriend,thatfromwhatIsawthatdayonthebeach,theenergyshe

gaveoff,she’sprobablyanythingbut—butwhenIseetheexpressiononhisface,seetheamusementthat
creaseshisbrow,Idecidetokeepittomyself.

“She’s not so bad, you know?” He inserts his key and starts the engine in a series of sputters and

spurts.“Maybeyoushouldgiveherachance?”

Ilookathim,rememberingwhatIsaidtohimthatveryfirstday,beforeIevenreallyknewhim,long

beforeIknewaboutus.Somethingabouthimalwaysfallingforallthewronggirlsandwonderingifhe’s
fallingonceagain.ButwhenIseethewayhisgazeshifts,thewayhisaurasparksandflames,Iknowthat
thatwronggirlisstillme.Honor’snoteveninthegame.AndI’mnotsurewhatbothersmemore—the
realizationofthatorthesuddenfloodofreliefthatitbrings?

“Ever—”
Hegazesatmeinawaythathaltsmybreath.Hisfacesoconflicted,it’sclearhe’sstrugglingwith

what comes next, but in the end he just squints, rubs his lips together, and takes a deep breath when he
says,“Yougonnabeokay?Yousureyouknowwhatyou’redoing?”

Inod,climbingintomycar,feelingmoreconfidentandempoweredthaneverbefore.Thedarknessis

gone,conqueredbylight,andthere’snowaythiscangowrong.Closingmyeyesandbringingmyengine
to life, then looking at Jude as I say, “Don’t worry. This time, I know what I’m doing. This time,
everything’sgonnabedifferent.You’llsee.”

ChapterThirty-Three

WhenIgettoRoman’s,it’squiet.
JustasI’dhoped.
JustasI’dplanned.
When Haven told me she was going to a concert with Misa, Marco, and Rafe, I knew it was the

perfect opportunity to catch Roman on his own, undisturbed, so I could approach him in a peaceful,
reasonablemannerandcalmlypleadmycase.

Istandoutsidehisdoor,takingamomenttoclosemyeyesandbestill.Drawingmyattentiondeep

downinsidemyself,unabletofindeventheslightesttraceofthemonsterinthere.It’sasifbylettinggoof
allmyangerandhatredforRoman,I’vedeprivedthedarkflameoftheoxygenitneededtosurvive—andI
amwhat’sleftinitsplace.

Andit’sonlyafterI’veknockedafewtimesandhestillfailstoanswerthatIletmyselfin.Knowing

he’sinthere,andnotjustbecausehischerryredAstonMartinisparkedinthedrivebutbecauseIcanfeel
him,sensehispresence,butoddlyenoughhedoesn’tseemtofeelorsensemineorsurelyhe’dalreadybe
here.

Iheaddownthehall,peekingintotheden,thekitchen,throughthewindowtothedetachedgaragein

theback,andwhenIseethatit’sdark,withnosignofhim,Iheadforhisbedroom,callinghisnameand
movingmuchlouderthannecessary,preferringnottosurprisehimorcatchhiminthemiddleofsomething
embarrassing.

Findinghimlyingonthemiddleofalarge,elaborate,canopiedbed,onewithsomanydrapesand

tasselsitremindsmeoftheonesDamenandIenjoyinourSummerlandversionofVersailles.Clothedin
anunbuttoned,whitelinenshirtandfadedoldjeans,hiseyesshuttight,withapairofearphonesclamped
tohishead,andaframedpictureofDrinaclutchedtohischest.AndIstop,wonderingifIshouldmaybe
justturnaroundandleave,catchhimanothertime,when:

“Oh, fer chrissakes, Ever, don’t tell me you knocked the bloody door down again?” He sits up,

tossing the earphones to the side and carefully placing the photo of Drina back in the drawer of his
nightstand.Seeminglynottheleastbitembarrassedatbeingcaughtinsuchaprivate,sentimentalmoment.
“Thiswholeactofyersisgettin’alittleoverplayed,don’tchathink?”Heshakeshisheadandrakeshis
fingersthroughthosegoldenwaves,pushingthembackintoplace.“Seriously,darlin’,can’tablokegeta
littleprivacyaroundhere?BetweenyouandHaven—”Hesighsandswingshisbarefeettotheflooras
though he’s about to stand, only he doesn’t, he just remains sitting like that. “Well, I’m feelin’ a little
tappedout—youknowwhatImean?”

Ilookathim,knowingIprobablyshouldn’tsayit,butI’mfartoocurioustoletitgo.“Wereyou—

wereyoumeditating?”Isquint,neverhavingpicturedhimasthetypetogoin,godeep,andtrytoconnect
tothatuniversalforce.

“So what if I was, mate? So what if I was?” He rubs his hands across his brow, then turns to me

when he says, “If you must know, I was trying to find Drina. You know you’re not the only one around
herewith—abilities.”

Iswallowhard,alreadywellawareofthat,alreadyguessingtheanswertomynextquestionwhenI

ask, “And—did you see her?” Willing to bet that he didn’t, especially knowing what I know about the
Shadowland.

He looks at me, face bearing a fleeting expression of pain when he says, “No. I didn’t. Okay?

Satisfied?ButsomedayIwill.Youcan’tkeepusapartforever,youknow?Despitewhatyou’vedone—
I’vegoteveryintentionoffindingher.”

Itakeadeepbreath,thinking:Oh,Ihopenot.Youarenotgoingtolikeitthere.Andfeelingterrible

for the times I tricked him into thinking I was her—even though I wasn’t in the driver’s seat when it
happened.

ButIdon’tsaythat.Infact,Idon’tsayanything.Ijustcontinuetostandthere,collectingmythoughts,

mywords,myself,waitingforjusttherightmomenttobegin.

“Roman, listen, I—” I shake my head and start over, telling myself I can do this, summoning my

strengthfromsomewheredowndeepwhenIlookrightathimandsay,“Thisisn’twhatyouthink.I’mnot
heretoseduceyou,orplaygameswithyou,ortauntyou,ortrytogetsomethingfromyou,oratleastnot
inthewaythatyouthink.I’mhereto—”

“Togettheantidote.”Hepickshisfeetupoffthefloorandplopsthembackdownonhisrumpled

bed. Arms folded, blocking his chest as he leans back against his silk-covered headboard and squints.
“I’llsayonething,Ever,you’repersistentifnothingelse.Howmanymoretimesareyouplanningtodo
this?Everytimeyoucomeoverhereyouhaveanewplanofattack,anewagendainmind,andyet,every
singletimeyoufailtomakethescoreeventhoughI’veprovidedyouampleopportunitytodoso.Makes
onewonderifyoureallydowantit.Maybeyouonlythinkthatyouwantit,butyoursubconsciouswon’t
allowit,sinceitknowsyourrealtruth.Yourdeep—dark—truth.”Hiseyesglintonmine,wantingmeto
knowthatheknowsaboutthemonster,andjusthowamusinghefindsit.“And,sorry,luv,butIhaveto
ask,howdoesDamenfeelaboutalltheselittlevisitsofyours?Ireckonhecan’tbetoopleasedaboutthat,
orthefactthatMilesisabouttobecomeprivytoyetanotheroneofhissecrets.He’sgotmany,youknow.
Secretsyouhaven’tevenyetbeguntouncover—stuffyoucan’tevenimagine—”

Inod,calmly,sincerely,refusingtolethiswordsgettome.I’mjustnotthatgirlanymore.
“Sotellme,doesheknowyou’reherenow?”
“No.”Ishrug.“Hedoesn’t.”ButwhenIthinkofthetextthatIsenthim,justbeforeIgotoutofmycar

andmademywayin,Iknowitwon’tbelonguntilhedoesknow.Assoonashecomesoutofthemovie
with Ava and the twins, he’ll check his messages, see my plans to meet him at the Montage, and he’ll
know.Butfornow,nope,notaclue.

“Isee.”Henods,hiseyesgrazingoverme.“Well,atleastyoutookthetimetocleanyourselfup.In

fact,you’relookingbetterthanever—radiant—kindofglowyeven.Tellme,Ever,what’syoursecret?”

“Meditation.”Ismile.“Youknow,cleansing,centering,focusingonthepositive—stufflikethat.”I

shrug,continuingtostandmygroundasheeruptsintoaboutofshouldershaking,eye-squinchinglaughter.

Allowingthehystericstodiedownwhenhesays,“Thatol’Damen’sgotyoutrekkingtheHimalayas

too,eh?”Hetiltshisheadandtakesmein.“Thatol’bugger,heneverlearns.Andalotofgooditdoes
him.”

“Well,excusemeforsayingso,butweren’tyoujustmeditating?”
“Notlikethat,luv.No,notlikethat,Iwasn’t.”Heshakeshishead.“Yousee,mywayisdifferent.I

was reaching out to one person in particular—not calling upon some made-up, universal, all-is-one
nonsense. Don’t you get it, Ever? This is it. Right here, right now.” He pats the rumpled sheets beside
him.“Thisisourparadise,ourheaven,ournirvana,ourShangri-la—whateveryouwanttocallit.”His
browshootsupashistonguewetshislips.“Thisisit.AndImeanthatbothfigurativelyandliterally.It’s
allwegot,andyou’rewastingyourtimeseekinganythingmore.Now,granted,you’vegotplentyoftime
towaste,I’llgiveyouthat,butstill,it’ssuchashametoseethewayyouchoosetospendit.ThatDamen’s
a bad influence, I tell you.” He pauses, as though taking a moment to consider. “So, what do you say?
Shallwetryitagain?Imean,youcomeherelookinglikethat,and,well,seeingasIhealquicklyandall,
I’mapttoforgiveyouforthelasttime,letbygonesbebygonesandallthat.Justdon’ttryanyfastmoves
ormakemethinkyou’reDrinaagainandwe’regoodtogo.You’vepulledsomecoldstuffthelastfew
times,though,funnything,Ithinkitjustmademelikeyouevenmore.So,whatdoyousay?”Hesmiles,
tossingapillowasidetomakeroomformeashecockshishead,flasheshistattoo,andgazesatmeinthat
mesmerizingway.

Butthistime,itdoesn’twork.EventhoughImovetowardhim,towardtheanticipatorygleaminhis

eye,it’snotforthereasonhethinks.

“I’mnothereforthat,”Isay,watchingasheshrugs,likehecouldn’tcarelesseitherway.
Head bent forward, inspecting his perfectly buffed and manicured nails when he says, “Then just

whatareyouherefor?Comeon,getonwithitalready,Haven’lldropbyeventually,soonasherconcert
isover,andIdon’tthinkeitherofusneedsascenelikethatagain.”

“I’venoplanstohurtHaven.”Ishrug.“I’venoplanstohurtyoueither.I’mmerelyheretoappealto

yourhigherself,that’sall.”

Hegapes,eyessearchingmyfaceforthejokehe’ssurethatI’mhiding.
“Iknowyouhaveone.Ahigherself.Infact,Iknowallaboutyou.Iknowallaboutyourpast,how

yourmotherdiedinlabor,howyourfatherbeatandthenabandonedyou—Iknowitall—I—”

“Bloody hell,” he says, blue eyes wide, voice so soft, so stunned, I almost missed it. “Nobody

knowsaboutthat—howthehelldidyou—?”

ButIjustshrug,thehowdoesn’tmatter.“Andafterknowingallthat,IfindthatIcannolongerhate

you.Ijustdon’t.It’snotinme.”

Hestaresatme,eyesnarrowed,fullofskepticism.Returningtohisusualbravadowhenhesays,“Of

courseyoudo,luv,youlovetohateme,that’sjustwhatyoudo.Infact,youlovetohatemesomuch,I’m
allyoucanthinkabout.”Hesmiles,noddingasthoughhe’sontome,likehe’sknownallalong.

ButIjustshakemyhead,perchingontheedgeofhisbedwhenIsay,“Whilethatusedtobetrue,it’s

notanymore.AndtheonlyreasonIcamehereistotellyouhowsorryIamforwhathappenedtoyou.I
really,trulyam.”

He averts his gaze, clenching his jaw and kicking at the blanket when he says, “Well, you bloody

wellshouldn’tbe!There’sonlyonethingyouhavetobesorryfor,luv,andthat’swhatyoudidtoDrina.
All the rest—you can spare me. I’m not the least bit interested in your misguided alms for the poor,
destitute, and downtrodden. I don’t need your sympathies, darlin’. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m no
longer that kid. Surely you can see that, Ever, just look at me.” He smiles and spreads his arms wide,
inviting me to take a good long look at his undeniably, glorious self. “I’m at the very top of my game.
Havebeenforcenturiesnow.”

“Andthat’sjustit.”Ileantowardhim.“Youviewitallasonebiggame—asthoughlifeistheboard

andyou’rethepiecethatalwaysneedstostaythreestepsaheadofalltheothers.Youneverletyourguard

down, never allow yourself to get close to anyone—and you have no idea how to love or how to be
loved,sincelovewasnevergiventoyou.Imean,sureyoucould’vemadedifferentchoices,andthere’s
no doubt you should’ve, but still it’s kind of hard to offer what you’ve never had, what you’ve never
experiencedforyourself,andIforgiveyouforthat.”

“What is this?” He glares at me. “Amateur hour? You gonna send me a bill for your ridiculous

psychobabblings?Isthatit?”

“No,”Isay,myvoicequiet,mygazefixedonhis.“I’mjusttryingtotellyouthatit’sover.Irefuseto

fightyouanymore.Ichoosetoloveyouandacceptyouinstead.Whetheryoulikeitornot.”

“Showme,”hesays,backtopattingthebedagain.“Whydon’tyoujustcrawlonoverhereandshow

methelove,Ever?”

“It’snotthatkindoflove.It’stherealkind.Theunconditionalkind.Thenonjudgmentalkind.Notthe

physicalkind.Iloveyouasafellowsoulwhoinhabitsthisearth.Iloveyouasafellowimmortal.Ilove
youbecauseI’mtiredofhatingyou,andrefusetodosoanylonger.IloveyoubecauseIfinallyunderstand
whatmadeyouthewayyouare.AndifIcouldchangeit,Iwould.ButIcan’t—soIchoosetoloveyou
instead.Andmyhopeisthatmyacceptanceofyouwillspuryouontodosomethinggoodtoo,butifnot
—”Ishrug.“AtleastIcansayItried.”

“Bloody hell,” he mumbles, rolling his eyes as though my words do nothing but pain him.

“Somebody’sbeendrinkingthehippiejuice!”Heshakeshisheadandlaughs,settlingdownandlookingat
mewhenhesays,“Okay,Ever,youlovemeandforgiveme.Bravo.Welldone.Buthere’sthenewsflash
—youstilldon’tgettheantidote,okay?Youstillloveme?Oryoubacktohatingmeagain?Justhowdeep
isyourlove,Ever—toquoteasongfromtheseventiesthatI’msureyou’veneverheardof.”Hedropshis
handsontohislap,leavingthemopen,relaxed.“Ifeelsorryforyourgeneration.Allthatcrapmusicyou
listento.YoushouldhearthebandHavenwenttosee—TheMightyHooligans?Whatkindofapiss-poor
nameisthat?”

Ijustshrug.IknowanavoidancetacticwhenIseeone,butnomatterhowhardhetries,Irefusetobe

swayedoffcourselikehewants.“Yourchoice,”Isay.“I’mnotheretoaskyouforanything.”

“Thenwhatareyouherefor?What’sthepointofthislittlevisitofyours?Accordingtoyou,you’re

notlookingfortheantidote,you’renotlookingforagoodshaggin’eventhoughit’sbloodyobviousyou’re
desperatelyinneedofone.Youjustwaltzoninhereanddisruptmyprivacysoyoucouldtellmeyoulove
me?Really,Ever?BecauseI’msorrytosayit,butIfindthatallabithardtodigest.”

“Ofcourseyoudo,”Isay,completelyunfazed.ThisisprettymuchexactlywhatIexpected,it’sall

moving along just as I planned. “But that’s only because you’ve never experienced that before. Six
hundred years and you’ve never known a moment of real and true love. It’s sad. Tragic really. But it’s
hardly your fault. So, for the record, this is what it feels like, Roman. This is what it looks like. I just
want you to know that, despite all you’ve done, I forgive you. And because I forgive you, because I
releaseyou,youcan’tgettomeorhurtmeanymore.Ifyounevergivemetheantidote—well,Damenand
Iwillworkaroundit,becausethat’swhatsoulmatesdo.That’swhattrueloveis.Itcannotbebroken,it
cannotbechippedaway,it’seternal,everlasting,anditcanweatheranystorm.Soifyou’redeterminedto
continuelikethis,Ijustwantyoutoknowyou’llgetnoresistancefromme.I’mdonewithallthat.I’vegot
alifetolive—howaboutyou?”

Helooksatme,andforabriefmoment,IknowI’vegothim.Iseetheflashinhiseye,theblipof

understandingthatthegameisnowover.Thatitrequirestwoplayers,andonejustdroppedout.Butthen,
justasquickly,it’sgoneandtheoldRoman’sreturned,saying,“Comeon,darlin’—youseriouswithall
this?Youmeantotellmeyouplantospendtherestofyourimmortallifesettlingforachastebitofhand-
holding?Hell,youcan’tevendothat—despitetheenergycondomyou’vemade—it’snothin’likethereal

thingnowisit,luv?Nothin’likethis.”

AndbeforeIknowit,he’sbesideme,hishandgrippingmyleg,gazedeep,intense,lockedonmine

ashesays,“Imayhaveneverknownthekindofloveyou’reblabberingonabout,butI’vehadplentyof
theotherkind—thiskind.”Hisfingersinchhigher.“AndI’mtellingyou,darlin’,inapinch,it’sjustas
goodifnotbetter.AndIcan’tstandtheideaofyoumissingout.”

“ThengivemetheantidoteandIdon’thavetomissout,”Isay,smilingsweetly,makingnoattemptto

removehisfingersfrommyflesh.That’swhathewantsmetodo.Hewantsmetofreakoutandresist.To
throw him against the wall. Make a menace of myself. The usual routine. But not this time. Nope. This
timeI’vegottoomuchtoprove.Toomuchtolose.Besides,I’mabouttoshowhimjusthowboringthe
gamecanbewhenonlyonedecidestoplay.

“You’dlikethat,wouldn’tyou?Towinthisone?”
“It’sawin-win,wouldn’tyousay?Youdosomethingnice—somethingnicewillbedoneforyou—

it’skarma.It’sarippleeffect.It’snofail.”

“Oh,backtothat,arewe?”Herollshiseyes.“Isay,thatDamenbloke’sreallydoneanumberon

you.”

“Maybe.”Ismile,refusingtorisetohisbait.“Ormaybenot.Youneverknowuntilyoutryit,right?”
“What?YouthinkI’veneverdoneanythingnice?”
“Ithinkit’sbeenawhile.You’reprobablyabitrustybynow.”
Helaughs,throwshisheadbackandlaughs,buthedoesn’tremovehishand,no,itstaysrightthere,

smoothingmythigh.

“Okay, Ever, theoretically speaking, let’s say I did do this one small thing for you. Let’s say I did

giveyoutheantidotethatwouldallowyouandDamentoshagyourlittleheartsout.Thenwhat?Howlong
doIhavetowaitforthisso-calledgoodkarmatoboomerangbackatme?Canyoutellmethat?”

Ishrug.“FromwhatI’veseen,youcan’tforcekarma,itworksonitsownterms.AllIknowis,it

works.”

“So, I’m supposed to just hand over something to you, something you desperately want, and risk

gettingnothinginreturn?Thathardlyseemsfairdarlin’,somaybeyoushouldreconsider,maybethere’s
somethingyoucangivetome.”Hesmiles,slidinghishandmuchhigher,wayhigher,toohigh.Andwhen
hegazesintomyeyes,tryingtooverpowerme,luremeintohisheadlikeheusedto—itdoesn’twork.I
remainrightwhereIam,rootedinplace.

Andyet,thatsimpleactalonehasspawnedanidea,onethatmightmovethisalongevenquickerthan

Ihoped,andgetmetotheMontage,whereItoldDamenwe’dmeet.

“Well,”Isay,doingmybesttoignorethefeelofhisfingerssplayedacrossmythigh.“Ifyouwon’t

trustkarma,willyouatleasttrustme?”

Helooksatme,headtitled,Ouroborostattooflashinginandoutofview.
“Because,cometothinkofit,Idohavesomethingtogiveyou.SomethingIknowforsurethatyou

want.SomethingthatonlyIcangiveyou.”

“Well,buggerthat!”Hesmiles.“Nowwe’retalkin’.Iknewyou’dcomearoundeventually,Iknew

you’dseethelight.”Hescootsevencloser,gripsmylegtighter.

ButIjustcontinuetositthere,breathingsteadily,evenly,awareofthelightstillshininginsideme

whenIsay,“It’snotthat—it’s—it’ssomethingmuchbetterthanthat.”

He squints. “Aw, now don’t be so hard on yerself, darlin’. First time’s always a wash. I promise

we’llhaveplentyofgoesforyoutoimproveyourskillsandgetbetter.”

And even though he laughs when he says it, obviously wanting me to laugh too, I don’t. I’m still

thinkingaboutwhatIjustsaid,thisnewplannowforminginmyhead.Knowingitwon’tbeexactlywhat

heexpects,andmaycausehimtohatemeevenmore,butstill,it’stheonlywayIcanthinkoftogethimto
connect—well,ifonecanactuallyconnectwithalostsoul,thatis...

“Letgoofmyleg.”Myeyesgazeintohis.
“Ah,bugger!”Heshakeshishead.“See,Iknewyouwerefullofit—you’renothingbutatease,Ever,

youknowthat?Nothingbut—”

“Letgoofmylegandtakeholdofmyhandsinstead,”Isay,myvoicecalm,determined.“Trustme,

youhavenothingtolose,Ipromiseyouthat.”

Hehesitates,butonlyforamomentbeforehedoesasIask.Thetwoofussittingcross-leggedonthe

bed,mybarekneespressedagainsthis,hishandsgrippingmine,thewholesceneremindingmevaguely
ofthebindingspellthatstartedthismess.

Onlythisisnothinglikethat.
Nothingatall.
I’m about to take a huge leap of faith. I’m about to share something with Roman that’ll definitely

result in his handing over the antidote. Looking him straight in the eyes when I say, “Your argument is
flawed.”

Hesquints.
“Yourargument.Abouttherebeingnothingbutthehereandnow.Ifyoutrulybelievedthat,thenwhy

were you trying to connect with Drina? If you truly believe that there’s nothing beyond this, the earth
plane,wherewesitnow,thenexactlywhatisityouweretryingtoconnectwith?”

Helooksatme,obviouslyflummoxedwhenhesays,“Heressence—her—”Heshakeshishead,tries

toletgoofmyhands,butIjustgriphistighter.“Whatthehellisthis?”heasks,clearlyunhappywithme.

“Itdoesn’tendhere,Roman.There’smore,lotsmore.Morethanyoucouldeverimagine.This,what

youseehere—thisisalljustatinylittlebliponamuchbiggerscreen.ButIhaveafeelingthatdespite
whatyousay,youalreadysensethat.Andbecauseyoualreadysensethat,you’reopentoit.Andso,with
thatinmind,I’mwonderingifwecanmaybebrokersomekindofdeal.”

“Iknewit!”Helaughsandshakeshishead.“Iknewyouhadn’tgivenup.Neversaydie,Ever,right?”
ButIjustignoreit,forgingaheadwhenIsay,“IfItakeyoutoDrina,ifIshowyouwheresherests,

willyougivemetheantidote?”

He drops my hands, his face blanched, shocked, clearly struggling to steady himself. “You putting

oneoveronme?”

“No.”Ishakemyhead.“I’mnot.I’mreallynot.Iswear.”
“Thenwhyareyoudoingthis?”
“Becauseitonlyseemsfair.YougivemewhatIwantmost,andI’llgiveyouwhatyouwantmost.

You may not like what you see, you’ll probably even end up hating me—but I’m willing to take that
chance.AndIpromiseyou,I’llgiveyouthewhole,unobstructedview.I’llholdnothingback.”

“And—whatifyougivemewhatIwantandIstilldon’tgiveyoutheantidote?Whatthen?”
“ThenImisjudgedyou.”Ishrug.“ThenIwalkawaywithnothing.ButIwon’thateyou,andIwon’t

bother you again. But I think you’ll definitely believe in karma once you experience the effects of an
actionlikethat.So—youready?”

Helooksatme,looksatmeforalongmoment,weighing,considering,untilhefinallynods,hisgaze

holdingsteadyonminewhenhesays,“WannaknowwhereIkeepit?”

Iswallowhard.Mybreathquickening.
“It’s right here.” He reaches over to his nightstand, opens a drawer, pulls out a small, jewel-

encrusted,velvet-linedboxandretrievesaslimglassvialfilledwithanopalescentliquidthatlooksan
awfullotlikeelixir—exceptthatit’sgreen.

And I watch as he waves it before me, seeing it sparkle and shine, hardly able to believe that the

answertoallofmytroublesissosmallandcontained.

“Ithoughtyousaidyoudidn’tkeepithere,”Isay,mymouthgonesuddenlydryasItakeitin—seeing

itshimmeringbeforeme.

“Ididn’t.Not’tilaftertheothernight.Beforethat,Ikeptitatthestore.Butthisisit,luv—asingle

servingwithnorecipecardonfile—thefulllistofingredientsexistsonlyinhere.”Hetapsthesideofhis
headandeyesmecarefully.“So,wehaveadeal,right?Youshowmeyours—andI’llgiveyoumine.”He
smiles,slippingtheantidoteintohisshirtpocketandgazingatmewhenhesays,“Butyoufirst.Youhold
upyourendofthedeal.Takemetoher—andthehappilyeverafterisyours.”

ChapterThirty-Four

“Close your eyes,” I whisper, grasping Roman’s cold hands in mine, our knees pressed tightly

together, our faces so close I can feel the chill of his breath on my cheek. “And now open your mind.
Riddingitasbestyoucanofallextraneousthoughts.Justemptyitout—letitgoblank—dropeverything
andjust—be.Gotit?”

Henods,squeezingmyfingerseventighter.Sofocusedonthis,wantingsobadlytoseewhereDrina

nowlives,it’sheartbreaking.

“Now, I want you to enter my mind. I’m going to lower my shield and allow you in, and—I’m

warning you, Roman—you may not like what you see, you may become extremely angry with me, but I
wantyoutorememberI’mholdingupmyendofthedeal,okay?Ineversaidyou’dlikeit,IonlysaidI’d
takeyoutowheresheis.”Iopenoneeyetoseehimnodonceagain,“Okay,sonow—comein—slowly
findyourwayinand—youwithme?”

“Yes,”hewhispers.“Yes—it’sso—dark—so—Ican’tseeathing—andI’mfalling—sofast—so—

where—?”

“It’llendsoon—justhanginthere,”Icoax.
Hisbreathquickensasthechillofit,acloudofcoldfog,hitsmycheek.“It’s—it’sstopped—thefall

—butit’sstillsodark—andso—I’m—suspended—and—alone—soalone—butI’mnot—someoneelse
is out there—she’s out there—and—oh, God—Drina—where are you—” He grips my hands tighter, so
tightthey’reabouttogonumb,hisbreathshallow,ragged,hisbodydrippingwiththesweatofhisefforts
as it collapses onto mine and he’s swept away by the events unfolding in my head—his head—a
breathless tour of the Shadowland, the infinite abyss, the final resting place for all immortal souls—
includingours.

MumblingastringofwordssosoftlyIcan’tmakethemout,Ionlyknowfromthetonethatthey’re

agitated,disturbed,fretful,ashehoversinthedarkness,clawingandgrasping,desperatelyseekingher.
Hisforeheadpushedagainstmine,nosepressedtomycheek,lipsrestingsonear,allofhisenergyand
strengthfocusedonher.

Andthat’showJudefindsus.
That’swhathesees.
RomanandItogether,sweatingonhissheets,ourbodiespressedtightlytogether,clutchingateach

other,bothofussolostinthevision,wedon’tseehim,don’thearhim,untilit’stoolate.

Toolatetostophim.
Toolatetoundowhathedoes.

Too late to rewind and go back—back to how it was before—when I was so close—so close to

gettingwhatIwant.

AndbeforeIknowit,I’mwrenchedfromRoman’sgrip,asJudelungesontopofhim,fistheaded

righttowardthecenterofhistorso,immunetomyscream.

Myagonized:“Noooooo!”
Thesoundofitfillinguptheroom,andrepeatingoverandoveragain.
Scramblingtogetup—topullhimoff—tostophimfromgoinganyfurther—butit’stoolate.Asfast

asIam—Ican’tbeathim—Igotalatestart—Iwasthrownoffmygame—andJude’salreadythere.

AlreadyontopofRoman.
Alreadyslamminghisfistintohissacralcenter.
Hisweakestchakra.
HisAchilles’heel.
Thecenterofjealousy,envy,andtheirrationaldesiretopossess.
ThecollectionofneedsthatdroveRomanforthelastsixhundredyears.
Instantlyturninghimfromgloriousgoldenboytopileofdust.
IleapontoJude,grabhimbytheshoulders,andflinghimtotheothersideoftheroom,hearingadull

crackashelandsagainstthedresser,butnotbotheringtolookback.Focusingononlyonething,Roman’s
whitelinenshirtglitteringwithtinyshardsofglassasadarkgreenstainspreadsacrossitsfront.

Theantidote.
Thevialfortheantidotenowsmashed—destroyedinthestruggle—andtakingmyhopesalongwith

it.

Andnow,withRomangone,hissoulheadedfortheShadowland,there’snowaytoeverretrieveit.
“Howcouldyou?”Iturn,eyesblazingonJude.“Howcouldyoudosuchathing?”Watchingashe

strugglestostand,faceblanched,handrubbingathisback.“You’vedestroyedeverything.Everything! I
wassoclose—soclosetogettingtheantidote—andyouwreckedit!Forever!”

Jude looks at me, hands on his knees, brow merged, struggling to catch his breath when he says,

“Ever—I—I didn’t mean to—” He shakes his head. “You have to believe me. I thought you were in
trouble—youlookedlikeyouwereintrouble!Youdidn’tseewhatIsaw—youwere—hewasallover
you—”Heshakeshishead.“Anditseemedlikeyouwerestruggling—internally,likeyoucouldn’thandle
it, couldn’t fight your attraction to him. And that’s why I came. That’s the only reason I’m here. I knew
whereyouwereheadingwhenyouleftthestoreandIdidn’tthinkyouwerereadytotrythisagain.And
whenIgotherejustnow—andsawyoulikethat—well,Ididn’twantittoenduplikethatlasttimeandso
—Ijust—I—”

“Andsoyoukilledhim?”Myeyesgapeasmythroatgoesdry.“YouusedeverythingIsharedwith

youagainstme,andyoukilledhim?”

He shakes his head and stands before me, his T-shirt torn from when I grabbed him and flung him

acrosstheroom,hisauraflaringindistressashefiddleswiththegreenmalachiteringonthehandheused
to kill Roman with. “You’re always going on and on about how bad he is—how evil—how he runs an
eviltribeofrogues—andhowbecauseofthespellyoucast,youcan’tseemtoresisthim.Youcametome
forhelp.Youconfidedinmefirst—notDamen.Youchoseme,Ever,whetheryoulikeitornot!AndallI
wantedtodowastosaveyou—fromRoman—fromyourself.Thatwasmyonlyintention—tolookafter
you—totakecareofyou!”

“Wasit?”Inarrowmygaze,asanewideabeginstotakeshape.“Wasthatreallyyouronlyintention?

Truly?”

“Whatareyoutalkingabout?”Hesquints,rubbinghislipstogether,tryingtodeciphermywords.

“YouknowexactlywhatI’mtalkingabout,”Isay,bodytremblingwithfury,outrage,anddefeat,asI

clutchRoman’sshirt,hisantidote-stainedshirt.“Youdidthisonpurpose.”Iglareathim,havingnoreal
proofthatit’strue,butstill,oncethewordsareoutthere,spokenaloud,theideabeginstogainstrength
andbuild,somuchsothatIquicklyrepeatit,venturingevenfurtherwhenIadd,“Youdidthisonpurpose.
Thisisnomistake.Youknewexactlywhatyouweredoingwhenyoucamehere.So,isthisitthen?Isthis
howyoufigureyou’llwinthegameoffourhundredyears?Isthisyourbigmove?Robbingme, the girl
yousupposedlylove,oftheonethingIwantmostinthisworld?EnsuringthatI’llnever,evergettobe
withDamen?Isthathowyou’replayingit,Jude?Youhonestlythinkthatthis’llmakemegiveuponmy
soulmateandchooseyou?”

IshakemyheadandgazedownatRoman’sshirt,myheartsinkingwhenIlookatthestainthatruns

acrossit,whenIthinkofRoman’ssad,patheticlife,andwhat’snowbecomeofhissoul.KnowingIwas
soclose,soclose,toreachinghim,tomakingadifference,togettingwhatIwant—andnowthis.

Everythinglostinaninstant.
“Ever—”Judepleads,thestingofmywordsconveyedinhisvoice,inhiseyes,ashemovestoward

me, his hands reaching, but I won’t let him get close, won’t let him touch me. “How can you even say
that?” he asks, finally stopping, conceding defeat. “I do love you. You know that. I’ve loved you for
centuries,it’strue.ButIdidn’tintentionallysetouttodothis—tokeepyoufromDameninthisway.You
mean too much to me to ever do that, I value your happiness, like I told you before. And when you do
finally make your choice, choose between us, I want it to be fair. This time, I’m determined that it be
fair.”

“ButI’vealreadychosen,”Isay,myvoicenowawhisper.Ijustdon’thaveitinmetofightanymore.

Risingfromthebed,stillclutchingtheshirt,whenHavencomesinandcatchesmelikethat.

Eyesblazingasshesurveysthescene,instantlyfillingintheblanksandputtingthepiecestogether

whensheseesRoman’sshirtinmyhand.

“What’veyoudone?”shesays,voicesolow,somenacing,itsendsachilldownmyspine.“Whatthe

hellhaveyoudone?”

Shesnatchestheshirt,graspingitagainstherlace-coveredchestashereyesrakeoverme,assuming

I’mtoblame,andignoringJudewhenhetriestostepinandassumefullresponsibility.

“I should’ve known.” She shakes her head, eyes narrowed to slits. “Should’ve known all along—

when you came over to my house and tried to play nice—you weren’t even the least bit sincere—you
wereusingme,playingme,pumpingmeforinformation—tryingtoseewhenI’dbegone,soyoucouldget
himaloneandthen—andthenkillhim.”

“It’snotwhatyouthink!”Icry.“It’snotlikethatatall!”ButnomatterhowmanytimesIrepeatit,it

doesn’tpenetrate.She’smadeuphermind,aboutme,aboutJude,abouteverythingthat’shappenedhere
tonight.

“Oh, it’s exactly what I think.” She glares, hands clutching her shiny, black leather-clad hips.

“Exactly. And trust me, Ever, you won’t get away with it. Not this time. You’re done interfering in my
life.You’redonerobbingmeofthepeopleIholddear.Thisiswar.Absolutewar.I’mgonnamakeyour
life so miserable, you’re gonna wish your only problem was that you can’t touch your boyfriend. Cuz
make no mistake—you’ve never seen anything like I’ve got coming for you.” She lifts her brow and
flashes her teeth. “And Jude?” She spins on her heel, acknowledging him for the first time since she
arrived.“You’regonnawishyouwereimmortal,becauseaftertonight,there’snowayyou’lleverbeable
towithstandwhat’sheadedyourway.”

ChapterThirty-Five

“So,itworked,”Damensays,hisvoicesoundingsoft,faraway.“Itreallydidexist.”
I take a deep breath and gaze down at my knees, my feet curled up on the soft leather seat,

rememberinghowhefoundmejustasIwasleavingRoman’s,Judefollowingbehind,asHavencontinued
toscreamafulllitanyofthreatsfromthedoor.Arrivingatthescenejustsecondsafterthemovieletout.
NotevenbotheringtostopbytheMontagewhereI’dplannedforustomeet,sensingtherewastrouble
fromthemomenthereadmymessage.

Inod,gazingupatmyhouseandrememberingthattriumphantmomentwhenitallcametogether—

whentheantidotewasasgoodasmine.Onlytohaveitallfallapart.

Ourdreamssnatchedrightoutfromunderusinonehorribleinstant.
Ishakemyheadandsigh,knowingtomorrowmorningI’llhavetofaceSabine.Havetocomeclean

about my job, my psychic abilities, my moonlighting as Avalon—and reminiscing about a few hours
earlierwhenIthoughtthatwastheworstofmyproblems.

“Itreallyandtrulydidwork,”Isay,meetingDamen’sgaze,notjustwantingbutneedingforhimto

believeit.“Hehadtheantidote,heshowedittomeandeverything.Itwasso—sosmall—just this tiny
glassvialfilledwithsparkly,greenliquid.”Ishrug.“Andthenhestuckitinhispocketand—”Iswallow
hard,noneedtorelivetherest.Notverballyanyway.Notwhenthescenekeepsreplayingagainandagain
inmyhead.

He frowns, having already viewed it almost as many times as me. “And then Jude busted in.” He

sighsandshakeshishead.Gazegrim,jawclenchedinawayI’veneverseenbefore.“Whydidyoutrust
him?Why’dyouconfideourweak-nesses—ourchakras—howtogettous?Whywouldyoudosomething
likethat?”Helooksatme,desperatetounderstand.

Iswallowhard,swallowpastthebig,drylumpnowblockingmythroat,thinking:Well,thereitis—

theblameI’vebeenseekingallalong.He’sfinallyjudgingme—butthistime,it’smoreforwhatJude’s
donethanwhatI’vedone.

ButwhenIlookathimagain,Iseethatisn’tit.He’ssimplytryingtomakesenseofitall.Butstill,I

just shrug and say, “It’s my fifth chakra. My weak link. I suck at discernment, misuse information, and,
apparently,trustallthewrongpeopleinplaceofthosewho’vebeenfaithfulallalong.”IpeeratDamen,
knowingherequiresmore,deservesmore,bowingmyheadasIadd,“Andthetruthis,hecaughtmeina
weak moment—” I pause, remembering just how weak that moment truly was—how close I came to
crossingthebridgethatleadstotheotherside.AndthoughItoldDamenallaboutthemagick,andhowI
turnedtoJudebeforehim,Ifailedtotellhimthatpart,mostlybecauseIwastooashamed.“Anincredibly

weakmoment.”Isigh.“WhatcanIsay?”

Damenturns,hisleatherseatsqueaking,ashelooksatme.“AndhereIwashopingyou’dlearnto

trustmeenoughtoturntomeinweakmoments,notJude.”Hisvoicesoquiet,sosolemn,itbreaksmy
hearttohearthewordsspokenoutloud.

Iclosemyeyesandleanbackagainsttheheadrest,feelingthethreatoftearsasIwhisper,“Iknow.I

should’ve told you. But despite all your assurances, despite what you told me, I just didn’t believe it
—couldn’tbelieveit.Ididn’tthinkIdeservedit.And,Damen,ifyouthinkyouknowtheworstofit,well,
thinkagain.I’mafraiditgetsmuchworse—”

Iturn,turnuntilI’mfacinghim,andpressmypalmsflatagainsthischeeks.Awareoftheenergyveil

nowdancingbetweenus,allowingforthatalmostfeelofhisskin,andknowingthisisit—thisisasgood
asiteverwillget.I’malloutofoptions—we’reoutofoptions.Romanisdeadandhetooktheantidote
with him. Then I take a deep breath, close my eyes, and share everything. Every single horrible and
humiliatingmomentrevealed—flowingfrommymindtohis.Airingtheuneditedversion,thatawfulnight
withRomanwhenIalmostlostmyvirginity,followedbythesceneattheBridgeofSouls—everyhorrible
secondrevealedinallitshigh-definition,degradingglory.Knowinghedeservestoknowthetruthabout
me—whatIwas,whereI’vebeen—andwhoIamnow.Thewholesordidjourney.

Andwhenit’sover,hejustshrugs,coveringmyhandswithhisashesays,“There’snothingtherethat

changedmymindaboutyou.Notonesinglething.”

Inod,knowingthat’strue.Ifinallygetit.Whattrueandunconditionallovereallyis.
“Ever,”hesays,voiceurgent,gazefixedonmine,“youneedtoreframehowyouseeyourselfandthe

choicesyou’vemade.”

Isquint,notquiteunderstanding.
“What you view as these huge glaring mistakes—well, they aren’t mistakes at all. The reality is

nothing like you’ve chosen to see it. You think you’ve done this terrible thing by feeding me Roman’s
elixir,whenthetruthis—yousavedmylife!YousparedmefromtheShadowland!Iwouldn’thavelasted
’tilRomygotback,despitethemagickcircleRaynemade.Iwashoveringinandoutofconsciousness.
Notquitehere,notquitethere,andifyouhadn’t’vedonewhatyoudidwhenyoudid—ifyou’drefusedto
let me drink—well, I would’ve perished and my soul would’ve been lost, stranded, left to drift in
darknessandsolitudeforallofeternity.”

I look at him, my eyes wide, never having thought of that. I’d been so busy beating myself up,

focusing on how we can no longer really touch in the way that we want, I failed to realize I’d actually
sparedhissoulfromthatinfiniteabyss.

“Andanotherthing”—hereachesformychin,thealmosttouchofhisfingerscausingarushofwarm

tingle—“youactuallygotthroughtoRoman!Andyousucceedednotbytrickeryorcalculatedcunningbut
by appealing to his deepest sense of humanity—a humanity the rest of us failed to see in him and were
suredidn’tevenexist.Butyouwereabletogodeeperthanthat,toseewhatwecouldn’t.Yousawthe
promiseinthepersonwe’dallwrittenoff.Doyouhaveanyideahowamazingthatis—howproudthat
makesme?”

“ButwhataboutturningHaven?”Iwhisper,rememberingherthreatandhavingnodoubtsheplansto

makegoodonit.

“DidInotmakethesamechoicewhenIsavedyou?”heasks,lipsatmyear.
“Butyoudidn’tknowabouttheShadowland.Idid,andIcondemnedhersoul.”Ishrug,pullingaway

togetabetterlookathisface.

Buthejustshakeshisheadandpullsmebacktohim.“IknowItoldyoutodootherwise,butifit

were me in your position, I would’ve done the same. Where there’s life, there’s hope, right? At least,

that’sbeenmymottoforthelastsixhundredyears.”

Ileanagainsthim,pressingmyheadintothehollowofhisshoulderasIgazeupatthehouse,seeing

thelightinSabine’sroomgooffandsqueezingDamen’shandwhenIsay,“RomyandRaynewereright.
Youknow,aboutthemagick.Thatusedforselfishandnefariousreasonsit’llresultinkarmathatcomes
backtimesthree.”

Weshift,ourgazemeetingastheairhangsheavybetweenus.
“ThefirstwaswhenIwasforcedintothatsituationwithHavenandIchangedher—turnedherinto

anadversarybentondestroyingme.ThesecondwasmyattractiontoRoman—thedarkflamethatburned
inside me. And now—and now this—Roman—the death of his soul and along with it, the death of the
antidote.”Ilookathim.“Imean,thatisthethree,right?Orwasmyattractiontohimjustme?Amonster
of my own making, a shadow of me that already existed and now there’s still another one out there—
somewhere—waitingforjusttherightmomenttoboomerangbackatus?Somethingwewon’tevensee
cominguntilit’stoolate?”

Ifighttocatchmybreath,suddenlyovercomebypanic,theforebodingfeelingthatit’snotoveryet,

there’smoreoutthere,andit’sheadedourway.

Soon comforted by the feel of his strong arms holding me tightly, his tingle and heat, and the

knowledge that there’s now a brilliant, white light shining inside me. And because of it, because of
everything I’ve been through, I’m now strong enough to meet it—my karma, my destiny—in whatever
formitmaytake....

Damen’swarm breath atmy ear, echoingmy thoughts when hesays, “Either way,we’ll ride it out

together.That’showitiswithsoulmates.That’sjustwhattheydo.”

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

Wyszukiwarka

Podobne podstrony:
Alternity Dark Matter The Voice
Cthulhu Dark Ages The Dark Ages
Cthulhu Dark Ages The Old Grimoire
Dark Shadows The story behind the grand, Gothic set design
Denning, Troy Dark Sun The Prism Pentad 05 The Cerulea
eternal flame The Bangles
warhammer 40,000 roleplay dark heresy the edge of darkness
Alyson Noel [The Immortals 01] Evermore viny
Warnings of a Dark Future The Emergence of Machine Intelligence
Stephanie Rowe Immortally Sexy 4 Sex and the Immortal Bad Boy
Karen Marie Moning 06 The Immortal Highlander
3 Shadowland (The Immortals)
6 Everlasting (The Immortals)
2 Blue Moon (The Immortals)
Farmer, Philip Jose Dark is the Sun
Alphonse Daudet The Immortal (html)
The Immortal Unknown K H Scheer
Frederik Pohl Shaffery Among the Immortals

więcej podobnych podstron

4 Dark Flame (The Immortals)

Document Outline