by Alyson Noel
“The full moon occurs around two weeks after the new moon. It’s when the moon reflects the maximum amount of light from the sun, which, from the earth plane, makes it appear full. When in reality, it’s always full since it’s not like it goes anywhere. Oh, and as far as symbols go? You want to know that right?” She smiles. “The full moon is all about abundance, completeness, a sort of ripening of things into their full powers. And since the moon’s energy is strongest at this point, it’s also full of magick power.”
I nod, trying to digest everything she just said, and forming the smallest inkling of understanding for why these phases are so important for my plan.
“All the moon’s phases are symbolic of something.” Ava shrugs. “The moon plays a powerful role in ancient lore and is said to control the tides. And since our bodies are mostly made up of water, some say it controls us too. Did you know that the word lunatic comes from the Latin word for moon, which is luna? Oh, and don’t forget the werewolf legend—it’s all about the full moon!”
Inwardly, I roll my eyes. There are no such things as werewolves, vampires, or demons—only immortals, and the immortal rogues who are determined to kill them.
“Can I ask why you’re asking all this?” she says, draining the last of her espresso and pushing the cup aside.
“In a minute,” I say, my words clipped, terse, far less conversational than hers. But unlike her, I’m not vacationing in Paris, I’m merely tolerating the view to get to the answers I need. “One last thing, what’s so special about a full moon during l’heure bleue, or blue hour as it’s called?”
She looks at me, her eyes wide, her voice breathless when she says, “Do you mean the blue moon?”
I shrug, remembering how the moon was so blue in the image it practically blended with the sky. Then figuring it was somehow symbolic of an actual blue moon with the way its color pulsated and shimmered, I say, “Yeah. But the blue moon specifically during the blue hour, what do you know about that?”
She takes a deep breath, gazing into the distance as she says, “The mainstream thought is that the second full moon in a month constitutes a blue moon. But there’s another, more esoteric school of thought that says the true blue moon occurs when there are two full moons occurring not necessarily within the same month, but within the same astrological sign. It’s regarded as a very holy day, one when the connection between the dimensions is very potent, making it an ideal time for meditation, prayer, and mystical journeys. It’s said that if you harness the blue moon energy during l’heure bleue, then all sorts of magick can occur. The only limitations, as usual, are your own.”
She looks at me, wondering what I’m up to, but I’m not ready to share that just yet. Then she shakes her head and says, “But just so you know, a genuine blue moon is very rare, only coming around every three to five years.”
My stomach twists as my hands grip the sides of my chair. “And do you know when the next blue moon will occur?” While thinking: Please let it be soon, please let it be soon!
Feeling like I’m about to puke and keel over simultaneously when she shakes her head and says, “I have no idea.”
But of course! The most important thing I need to know—is the one thing she doesn’t know.
“Though I know how we can find out.” She smiles.
I shake my head, just about to inform her that as far as I can tell, my access to the akashic records has just been revoked, when she closes her eyes and a moment later a silver iMac appears.
“Google, anyone?” She laughs, pushing it toward me.
thirty-eight
Even though I felt like an idiot the second Ava manifested that laptop (I mean, duh, why didn’t I think of that?), we did get our answer fairly quick.
Though unfortunately, it wasn’t the good news I was hoping for.
In fact, it was anything but.
Just when everything was coming together, seeming like it was destined to be—it all fell apart the second I learned that the blue moon, that rarest of full moons that only comes around every three to five years, which also just so happens to be my one and only window for time travel, has its next scheduled appearance—tomorrow.
“I still can’t believe it,” I say, climbing out of my car while Ava feeds the meter from a neat stack of quarters cupped in the palm of her hand. “I thought it was just another full moon, I didn’t know there was a difference, or that they’re so rare. I mean, what am I supposed to do?”
She snaps her wallet shut and looks at me. “Well, from what I can see, you have three choices.”
I press my lips together, not sure I want to hear any of them.
“You can do nothing at all and just sit back and watch while everything you love and care about completely falls apart, you can choose to handle just one thing at the cost of all the others, or you can tell me just exactly what is going on here so I can see if I can help.”
I take a deep breath and look at her standing before me, back in her usual outfit of faded jeans, silver rings, a white cotton tunic, and brown leather flip-flops. Always there, always available, always willing to help me, even when I don’t realize I need it.
Even back when I was being dismissive (and if I’m gonna be honest—more than a little mean), Ava was right there, waiting for me to come around, never once holding my bad attitude against me, never once turning her back or shunning me in the way I shunned her. It’s like she’s been standing by all this time, waiting to step in as my psychic big sister. And now, she’s pretty much the only one I have left—the only one I can count on—the only one who comes close to knowing the real me—including most of my secrets.
And in light of everything I just learned, I’ve no choice but to tell her. There’s no way I can go it alone like I’d hoped.
“Okay.” I nod, convincing myself it’s not just the right thing to do, but the only thing to do. “Here’s what I need you to do.”
And as we head down the street, I tell her what I saw that day on the crystal. Managing to explain as much as I can while avoiding the I word—honoring my promise to Damen that I’ll never divulge our immortality. Telling Ava that Damen will need the antidote so that he can get better, followed by his “special red energy drink” so he can rebuild his strength. Explaining that I’m faced with a choice between being with the love of my life, or saving four lives that were never meant to end.
So by the time we’re standing outside the shop where she works, the shop I’ve passed many times before but swore I’d never enter—she looks at me, her mouth opening as if to say something, before clamping shut again. Repeating this scenario a few more times until she’s finally able to mumble, “But tomorrow! Ever, can you leave that soon?”
I shrug, my stomach sinking when I hear it spoken out loud. But knowing I can’t wait another three to five years, I nod with more assurance than I feel when I look at her and say, “And that’s exactly why I need you to help me with the antidote, then find a way to get it to him along with the elix—” I pause, hoping I haven’t aroused her suspicions, trying to recover when I say, “—that red energy drink—so that he can get better. I mean, now that you know how to get inside his house, I’m thinking you can find a way to, I don’t know, spike his drink or something,” I say, knowing it sounds like the worst plan ever, but determined to see that it works. “And then, when he’s better—when the old Damen returns—you can explain everything that’s happened, and give him the—the red drink.”
She looks at me with an expression so conflicted I’m not sure how to read it, so I forge straight ahead. “I know it probably seems like I’m choosing against him—but I’m not. Really I’m not. In fact, there’s a good chance that none of this will even be necessary. There’s a good chance that when I go back to how I was, everything else will go back too.”
“Is that what you saw?” she asks, her voice soft, gentle.
I shake my head. “No, it’s just a theory, though I think it makes sense. I mean, I can’t imagine it any other way.
So all of this stuff I’m telling you now is just a precaution since it won’t even be necessary. Which means you won’t remember this conversation since it will be like it never occurred. In fact, you won’t have any recollection of having known me. But just in case I’m wrong—which I’m pretty sure I’m not—but just in case I am, I need to have a plan in place—you know, just in case,” I mumble, wondering who I’m trying to convince, me or her.
She grabs hold of my hand, her eyes full of compassion when she says, “You’re doing the right thing. And you’re lucky. Not many people get the chance to go back.”
I look at her, my lips curving into a grin. “Not many?”
“Well, no one I can think of offhand.” She smiles.
But even though we both laugh, when I look at her again my voice is serious when I say, “Seriously, Ava, I can’t bear for anything to happen to him. I mean, I’d—I’d just die if I somehow found out that it did—and that it was my fault . . .”
She squeezes my hand and opens the shop door, leading me inside as she whispers, “Don’t worry. You can trust me.”
I follow her past shelves crowded with books, a wall of CDs, and an entire corner dedicated to angel figurines, before passing a machine that claims to photograph auras as we head for a counter where an older woman with a long gray braid is reading a book.
“I didn’t realize you were on the schedule today?” She sets down her novel and glances between us.
“I’m not.” Ava smiles. “But my friend Ever here—” She nods her head toward me. “She needs the back room.”
The woman studies me, obviously trying to glimpse my aura and get a feel for my energy, then shooting Ava a questioning look when she comes away empty.
But Ava just smiles and nods in consent, signaling that I’m worthy of access to the “back room,” whatever that is.
“Ever?” the woman says, her fingers creeping toward her neck, worrying the turquoise pendant that hangs at her collarbone.
A stone that, as I recently learned in my brief study of minerals and crystals on the iMac in Summerland, has been used for amulets meant to heal and protect for hundreds of years. And with the way she just said my name, and by the suspicious look on her face, it’s not like I need to access her mind to know that she’s wondering if she might need protection from me.
She hesitates, glancing between Ava and me, then focusing solely on me as she says, “I’m Lina.”
That’s it. No handshake, no welcoming hug. She just states her name and then makes for the door, flipping the sign that hangs there from OPEN! to BE BACK IN IO! Then motioning for us to follow her down a short hall with a shiny purple door at the end.
“Can I ask what this is about?” She rummages in her pocket for a set of keys, still undecided as to whether or not she’ll be letting us in.
Ava nods at me, signaling that it’s my turn to take it from here. So I clear my throat and cram my hand into the pocket of my recently manifested jeans whose hems, thankfully, still reach the floor. Retrieving the crumpled-up piece of paper as I say, “I um, I need a few things.” Wincing when Lina snatches it out of my hand and looks it over. Stopping to lift a brow, grunt something unintelligible under her breath, and scrutinize me some more.
And just when it seems she’s about to turn me away, she thrusts the list back into my hand, unlocks the door, and waves us both into a room that I didn’t expect.
I mean, when Ava told me this was the place that would have what I need, I was more than a little nervous. I was sure I’d be thrust into some creepy hidden basement filled with all manner of strange, scary, ritualistic stuff, like vials of cat blood, severed bat wings, shrunken heads, Voodoo dolls—stuff like you see in movies or on TV. But this room is nothing like that. In fact, it pretty much looks like your average, more or less well-organized storage closet. Well, except for the bright violet walls punctuated by hand-carved totems and masks. Oh, and the goddess paintings propped against the overstuffed shelves sagging with heavy old tomes and stone deities. But the file cabinet is pretty standard issue. And when she unlocks a cupboard and starts rummaging around, I try to peek over her shoulder, but I can’t see a thing until she’s handing me a stone that seems wrong in every way.
“Moonstone,” she says, noting the confusion on my face.
I stare at it, knowing it doesn’t look like it should, and even though I can’t explain it, something about it feels off. And not wanting to offend her since I’ve no doubt she wouldn’t hesitate to evict me, I swallow hard, screw up my courage, and say, “Um, I need one that’s raw and unpolished, in its absolute purest form—this one just seems a little too smooth and shiny for my needs.”
She nods, almost imperceptibly, but still it’s there. Just the briefest tilt of her head and curl of her lips before she replaces it with the stone that I asked for.
“That’s it,” I say, knowing I just passed her test. Gazing at a moonstone that’s not nearly as shiny or pretty but will hopefully do what it’s intended to, which is aid in new beginnings. “And then I’m gonna need a quartz crystal bowl, one that’s been tuned to the seventh chakra, a red silk pouch embroidered by Tibetan monks, four polished rose quartz crystals, one small star—no, staur-o-lite? Is that how you say it?” I look at her just in time to see her nod. “Oh, and the biggest raw zoisite you’ve got.”
And when Lina just stands there with her hands on her hips, I know she’s wondering how all of these seemingly random items can possibly fit together.
“Oh, and a chunk of turquoise, probably like the size of the one you’re wearing,” I say, motioning toward her neck.
She looks me over, giving me a crisp, perfunctory nod, before turning her back and gathering the crystals. Wrapping them up so casually you’d think she was bagging groceries at Whole Foods.
“Oh, and here’s a list of herbs,” I say, reaching into my other pocket and retrieving a crumpled sheet of paper, which I then hand to her. “Preferably planted during the new moon and tended by blind nuns in India,” I add, amazed when she just takes the list and nods without flinching.
“Can I ask what this is for?” she asks, her eyes on mine.
But I just shake my head. I was barely able to tell Ava, and she’s a good friend. So there’s no way I’m telling this lady, no matter how grandmotherly she may seem.
“Um, I’d rather not say.” I shrug, hoping she’ll respect that and get on with it since manifesting these items won’t work, it’s imperative they spring from their original source.
We look at each other, our gazes fixed, unwavering. And even though I plan to stand my ground for as long as it takes, it’s not long before she breaks away and starts riffling through the filing cabinet, her fingers flipping past hundreds of packets as I say, “Oh, and one more thing.”
Searching through my backpack for my sketch of the rare, hard-to-find herb that was oft used in Renaissance Florence. The final ingredient needed to bring the elixir to life. Handing it to her as I ask, “Does this look familiar?”
thirty-nine
With all of our ingredients gathered—well, everything but the spring water, extra-virgin olive oil, long white tapered candles (which, oddly, Lina was out of, considering they were pretty much the most normal thing I requested), orange peel, and the photo of Damen I didn’t expect her to have—we return to my car.
And I’m just unlocking the door when Ava says, “I think I’ll walk home from here since I’m just around the corner.”
“You sure?”
She spreads her arms wide as though embracing the night. Her lips curving into a grin as she says, “It’s so nice out, I just want to enjoy it.”
“As beautiful as Summerland?” I ask, wondering what’s brought on this sudden fit of happiness, considering how serious she was in Lina’s back room.
She laughs, her head thrown back, her pale neck exposed, leveling her gaze on mine when she says, “Don’t worry. I’ve no plans to drop out of society and move there full time. It’s just nice to have t
he access when I need a little escape.”
“Just be careful not to visit too much,” I tell her, echoing the same warning Damen once gave to me. “Summerland’s addictive,” I add, watching as she hugs her arms to her body and shrugs, knowing I’ve wasted my words since it’s obvious she’ll be back as soon and as often as she can.
“So, you’ve got everything you need?”
I nod and lean against the car door. “And the rest I’ll pick up on my way home.”
“And you’re sure you’re ready?” She looks at me, her face drawn and serious again. “You know, leaving all of this? Leaving Damen?”
I swallow hard, preferring not to think about that. I’d rather keep busy, focus on one task at a time, until tomorrow comes around and it’s time to say good-bye.
“Because once something’s done, it can’t be undone.”
I shrug, meeting her gaze as I say, “Apparently that’s not true.” Watching as she tilts her head to the side, her auburn hair blowing into her face before she captures the strands and tucks them back behind her ear.
“But what you’re returning to—well, you realize you’ll be normal again. You won’t have access to such knowledge, you’ll be completely unaware—are you sure you want to return to all that?”
I gaze down at the ground, kicking a small rock instead of looking at her. “Listen, I’m not gonna lie. All of this is happening so much quicker than I expected—and I hoped to have more time to—to finalize things. But ultimately—yeah, I think I’m ready.” I pause, replaying the words I just said and knowing they didn’t convey what I meant. “I mean, I know I’m ready. In fact, I’m definitely ready. Because putting everything back in its place and returning it to the way it should be—well—it feels like the right thing to do, you know?”
And even though I didn’t mean for it to happen, my voice rose at the end, making it sound more like a question than the statement I intended it to be. So I shake my head and say, “What I meant was, it’s absolutely, positively, one hundred percent the right thing to do.” Adding, “I mean, why else was I granted access to those records?”
