by Alyson Noel
And just as they’re preparing to head home for lunch, three swarthy men storm through the door. Overpowering Damen’s father and demanding the elixir, as his mother thrusts her son into the cupboard where it’s stored—warning him to stay put, to not make a sound, until it’s safe to come out.
He cowers in that dark, dank space, peering through a small knot in the wood. Watching as his father’s workshop—his life’s work—is destroyed by the men in their search. But even though his father turns over his notes, it’s not enough to save them. And Damen trembles, watching helplessly, as both of his parents are murdered.
I sit on the white marble bench, my mind reeling, my stomach churning, feeling everything Damen feels, his swirling emotions, his deepest despair—my vision blurred by his tears, my breath hot, jagged, indistinguishable from his. We are one now. The two of us joined in unimaginable grief.
Both of us knowing the same kind of loss.
Both of us believing we were somehow at fault.
He washes their wounds and cares for their bodies, convinced that when three days have passed, he can add the final ingredient, that odd-looking herb, and bring them both back. Only to be awakened on that third and final day by a group of neighbors alerted by the smell, finding him curled up beside the bodies, the bottle of elixir clutched in his hand.
He struggles against them, retrieving the herb and desperately shoving it in. Determined to get it to his parents, to make them both drink, but overpowered by his neighbors long before he can.
Because they’re convinced that he’s practicing some sort of sorcery, he’s declared a ward of the church, where devastated by loss and pulled from everything he knows and loves, he’s abused by priests determined to rid him of the devil inside.
He suffers in silence, suffers for years—until Drina arrives. And Damen, now a strong and handsome man of fourteen, is transfixed by the sight of her flaming red hair, her emerald green eyes, her alabaster skin—her beauty so startling it’s hard not to stare.
I watch them together, barely able to breathe as they form a bond so caring, so protective, I regret ever asking to see this. I was brash, impulsive, and reckless—I didn’t take the time to think it all through. Because even though she’s now dead and is no threat to me, watching him fall under her spell is more than I can bear.
He tends to the wounds she suffered at the hands of the priests, handling her with great reverence and care, denying his undeniable attraction, determined only to protect her, save her, to aid her escape—the day arriving much sooner than expected when the plague sweeps through Florence—the dreaded Black Death that killed millions of people, rendering them all into a bloated, pus-ridden, suffering mess.
He watches helplessly as many of his fellow orphans grow ill and die, but it’s not until Drina is stricken that he returns to his father’s life’s work. Re-creating the elixir he’d sworn off all these years—associating it with the loss of everything he held dear. But now, left with no other choice, and unwilling to lose her, he makes Drina drink. Sparing enough for himself and the remaining orphans, hoping only to shield them from disease, having no idea it would grant immortality too.
Infused with a power they can’t understand and immune to the agonized cries of the sick and dying priests, the orphans disband. Heading back to the streets of Florence where they loot from the dead, while Damen, with Drina by his side, is intent on only one thing: seeking revenge on the trio of men who murdered his parents, ultimately tracking them down only to find that without the aid of the final ingredient, they’ve succumbed to the plague.
He waits for their death, taunting them with the promise of a cure he never intends to fulfill. Surprised by the hollowness of the victory when their bodies finally do yield, he turns to Drina, looking for comfort in her loving embrace…
I shut my eyes, determined to block it all out but knowing it’s burned there forever, no matter how hard I try. Because while knowing they were lovers off and on for nearly six hundred years is one thing.
Having to watch it unfold—is another.
And even though I hate to admit it, I can’t help but notice how the old Damen with his cruelty, greed, and abundance of vanity—has an awful lot in common with the new Damen—the one who ditched me for Stacia.
And after watching over a century of the two of them bonded by a never-ending supply of lust and greed, I’m no longer interested in getting to the part where we meet. No longer interested in seeing the previous versions of me. If it means having to view another hundred years of this, then it just isn’t worth it.
And just as I close my eyes and plead—Just get me to the end! Please! I can’t stand to see another moment of this!—the crystal flickers and flares as a blur of images race past, fast-forwarding with such speed and intensity I can barely distinguish one image from the next. Getting only the briefest flash of Damen, Drina, and me in my many incarnations—a brunette, a redhead, a blonde—all of it whirling right past me—the face and body unrecognizable, though the eyes are always familiar.
Even when I change my mind and ask for it to slow down, the images continue to whir. Culminating in a picture of Roman—his lips curled back, his eyes filled with glee—as he gazes upon a very aged, very dead Damen.
And then—
And then—nothing.
The crystal goes blank.
“No!” I shout, my voice bouncing off the walls of the tall empty room and echoing right back at me. “Please!” I beg. “Come back! I’ll do better. Really! I promise not to get jealous or upset. I’ll watch the whole entire thing if you’ll only just rewind!”
But no matter how much I beg, no matter how much I plead to view it again, the crystal is gone, vanished from sight.
I gaze all around, searching for someone to help, some sort of akashic record reference librarian, even though I’m the only one here. Dropping my head in my hands, wondering how I could’ve been so stupid as to allow my petty jealousies and insecurities to take over again.
I mean, it’s not like I didn’t know about Drina and Damen. It’s not like I didn’t know what I was going to see. And now, since I was too big of a wuss to just suck it up and deal with the info before me, I’ve no idea how to save him. No idea of how we possibly could’ve gone from such a wonderful A to such a horrible Z.
All I know is that Roman’s responsible. A pathetic confirmation of what I already guessed. Somehow he’s weakening Damen, reversing his immortality. And if I’ve any hope of saving him, I need to learn how if not why.
Because one thing I know for sure is that Damen does not age. He’s been around for over six hundred years and still looks like a teen.
I drop my head in my hands, hating myself for being so petty, so small, so foolish—so heinously pathetic, that I robbed myself of the answers I came here to know. Wishing I could rewind this whole session and start over—wishing I could go back—
“You can’t go back.”
I turn, hearing Romy’s voice sneak up from behind me, and wondering how she found her way into this room. But when I look around, I realize I’m no longer in that beautiful circular space, I’m back in the hall. A few tables away from where the monks, priests, shamans, and rabbis once were.
“And you should never fast-forward into the future. Because every time you do, you rob yourself of the journey, the present moment, which, in the end, is all there really is.”
I turn, wondering if she’s referring to my crystal tablet debacle or life in general.
But she just smiles. “You okay?”
I shrug and look away. I mean, why bother explaining? She probably already knows anyway.
“Nope.” She leans against the table and shakes her head. “I don’t know a thing. Whatever happens in here is yours and yours to keep. I just heard your cry of distress so I thought I’d check in. That’s all. Nothing more, nothing less.”
“And where’s your evil twin?” I ask, gazing around, wondering if she’s hiding somewhere.
But Romy just
smiles and motions for me to follow. “She’s outside, keeping an eye on your friend.”
“Ava’s here?” I ask, surprised by how relieved that makes me feel. Especially considering how I’m still annoyed with her for ditching me like that.
But Romy just waves again, leading me through the front door and out to the steps where Ava is waiting.
“Where’ve you been?” I ask, my question sounding more like an accusation.
“I got a little sidetracked.” She shrugs. “This place is so amazing, I—” She looks at me, hoping I’ll lighten up and cut her a break, and averting her gaze when it’s clear that I won’t.
“How’d you end up here? Did Romy and Rayne—” But when I turn, I realize they’re gone.
Ava squints, her fingers playing with the newly manifested gold hoops at her ear. “I desired to find you, so I ended up here. But I can’t seem to get inside.” She frowns at the door. “So is this it? Is this the hall you were looking for?”
I nod, taking in her expensive shoes and designer handbag, and growing more annoyed by the second. Here I take her to Summerland so she can help me save someone’s life, and all she wants to do is go shopping.
“I know,” she says, responding to the thoughts in my head. “I got carried away, and I’m sorry. But I’m ready to help if you still need it. Or did you get all the answers you sought?”
I press my lips together and gaze down at the ground, shaking my head when I say, “I um—I ran into some trouble.” A flood of shame washes right over me, especially when I remember how the trouble was pretty much of my making. “And I’m afraid I’m right back where I started,” I add, feeling like the world’s biggest loser.
“Maybe I can help?” She smiles, squeezing my arm so I’ll know she’s sincere.
But I just shrug, doubting she can do much of anything at this point.
“Don’t give up so easily,” she says. “After all, this is Summerland, anything is possible here!”
I glance at her, knowing it’s true but also knowing I’ve got some serious work to do back home on the earth plane. Work that’s going to require all of my attention and focus, no distractions allowed.
So as I lead her down the stairs, I look at her and say, “Well, there’s one thing you can do.”
twenty-seven
Even though Ava wanted to stay, I pretty much grabbed hold of her hand and forced her to leave, knowing we’d both wasted plenty of time in Summerland already and I had other places to be.
“Damn!” She squints at her fingers just after we land on the floor cushions in her small purple room. “I was hoping they’d keep.”
I nod, noticing how the jewel-encrusted gold rings she’d manifested have returned to her usual silver, while the designer shoes and handbag didn’t survive the trip either.
“I was wondering about that,” I say, rising to my feet. “But you know you can do that here, right? You can manifest anything you want, you just have to be patient.” I smile, wishing to leave things on a positive note by repeating the exact same pep talk Damen gave me back when my lessons first began. Lessons I wished I’d paid a lot more attention to now, having assumed that being immortal meant we had nothing but time. Besides, I’m starting to feel guilty for being so hard on her. I mean, who wouldn’t get a little carried away on their first visit to that place?
“So what now?” she calls, following me to the front door. “When do we go back? I mean, you won’t return without me—will you?”
I turn, my eyes meeting hers, seeing how consumed she is with her visit and wondering if I’d made a mistake by taking her there. Avoiding her eyes as I head for my car, calling over my shoulder to say, “I’ll give you a call.”
The next morning I pull into the parking lot and head for class. Merging into the usual swarm of students just like any other day, except this time I don’t strive to keep my distance and maintain my personal space. Instead, I just go with the flow. Not reacting in the slightest when random people brush up against me, despite the fact that I left my iPod, hoodie, and sunglasses at home.
But that’s because I’m no longer reliant on those old accessories that never worked all that well anyway. Now I carry my quantum remote wherever I go.
Yesterday, just as Ava and I were about to leave Summerland, I asked her to help me build a better shield. Knowing I could just go back into the hall while she waited outside and receive the answer on my own, but since she wanted to help, and figuring she might learn something too, we lingered at the bottom of the steps, both of us focusing our energy on desiring a shield that would allow us (well, me mostly, since Ava doesn’t hear thoughts and get life stories by touch) to tune in and out at will. And the next thing you know, we both looked at each other and at the exact same second said, “A quantum remote!”
So now, whenever I want to hear someone’s thoughts I just surf over to their energy field and hit select. And if I don’t want to be bothered, I hit mute. Just like the remote I have at home. Only this one is invisible so I can pretty much take it everywhere I go.
I head into English, arriving early so I can observe all the action from start to finish. Not wanting to miss a single second of my planned surveillance. Because even though I have visual proof that Roman’s responsible for what’s happening to Damen—it gets me only so far. And now that the who part of the equation is solved, it’s time to move on to the how and why.
I just hope it doesn’t take too long. I mean, for one thing, I miss Damen. And for another, I’m so low on immortal juice I’m already forced to ration it. And since Damen never got around to giving me the recipe, I’ve no idea how to replace it, much less what will happen without it. Though I’m sure it’s not good.
Originally, Damen thought he could just drink the elixir once and be cured of all ills. And while that worked for the first one hundred and fifty years, when he started to see subtle signs of aging he decided to drink it again. And then again. Until he ultimately became totally dependent.
He also didn’t realize that an immortal could be killed until after I took down his ex-wife, Drina. And while both of us were sure that targeting the weakest chakra was the only method (the heart chakra in Drina’s case), and while I’m still sure that we’re the only ones who know that—according to what I saw yesterday in the akashic records, Roman’s discovered another way. Which means if I have any hope of saving Damen, I need to learn what Roman knows, before it’s too late.
When the door finally opens, I lift my gaze as a horde of students burst in. And even though it’s not the first time I’ve seen it, it’s still hard to watch them all laughing and joking and getting along, when just last week they barely acknowledged each other. And even though it’s pretty much the kind of scene anyone would dream of seeing in their school, under the circumstances, it’s not giving me the thrill that it should.
And not just because I’m stuck on the outside looking in, but because it’s creepy, unnatural, and weird. I mean, high schools don’t operate like this. Heck, people don’t operate like this. Like will always seek like and that’s just the way it is. It’s just one of those unspoken rules. Besides, this isn’t something they’ve chosen to do. Because little do they realize that all of that hugging, laughing, and ridiculous high-fiving is not because of their newfound love for each other—it’s because of Roman.
Like a master puppeteer controlling his subjects for his own amusement—Roman is responsible. And while I don’t know how or why he’s doing it, and while I can’t prove that he actually is doing it, I just know in my heart that it’s true. It’s as clear as the ping in my gut or the chill that blankets my skin whenever he’s near.
I watch as Damen slides onto his seat as Stacia leans on his desk, her heavily padded pushed-up chest looming close to his face as she swings her hair over her shoulder and laughs at her own stupid wit. And even though I can’t hear the joke since I purposely tuned her out in order to better hear Damen, the fact that he thinks it’s stupid, is good enough for me.
> It also gives me a small burst of hope.
A burst of hope that soon ends the second his attention returns to her cleavage.
I mean, he’s so banal, so juvenile, and to be honest—completely embarrassing. And if I thought my feelings were hurt yesterday, when I was forced to watch him make out with Drina, well, in retrospect, that was nothing compared to this.
Because Drina was then, nothing more than a beautiful, empty, shallow image on a rock.
But Stacia is now.
And even though she’s beautiful, empty, and shallow too—she happens to be standing right before me in all of her three-dimensional glory.
I listen to Damen’s diluted brain wax all rhapsodic over the virtues and abundance of Stacia’s heavily padded chest, and I can’t help but wonder if this is his real taste in women.
If these bratty, greedy, vain girls are the kind of females he truly prefers.
And if I’m just some weird anomaly, some quirky odd fluke, that kept getting in the way the last four hundred years.
I keep my eye on him all through class, watching from my lone seat in the back. Automatically answering Mr. Robins’s questions without even thinking, just repeating the answer I see in his head. My mind never straying from Damen, reminding myself, again and again, of who he really is: That despite all appearances, he’s good, kind, caring, and loyal—the undisputed love of my numerous lives. And that this version sitting before me is not the real deal—no matter how much it may mirror some of the behaviors revealed yesterday—it’s not who he is.
And when the bell finally rings, I follow him. Keeping tabs on him all through second period P.E. (mostly because I don’t go), choosing to linger outside his classroom when I’m supposed to be running track. Slipping out of sight the moment I sense the hall monitors about to stroll by, then returning as soon as they’ve passed. Peering at him through the window and eavesdropping on all of his thoughts, just like the stalker he’s accused me of being. Not knowing whether to feel disturbed or relieved when I discover that his attentions aren’t strictly relegated to Stacia—that they’re pretty much available for whoever’s semi–good-looking and sitting nearby—unless, of course, that someone is me.
