by Alyson Noel
“Maybe yes—maybe no. Who’s to say?” He reaches into his pocket and retrieves a pack of cigarettes, offering one to me. But I just roll my eyes and make a face, seeing him squint as he brings his lighter to the tip, inhaling deeply then exhaling as he says, “Fer chrissakes, Ever, live a little! Immortality is wasted on you!”
I frown, making a show of waving the smoke out of my face when I say, “Who owns this place?” Realizing I’ve never noticed it before and wondering what his connection could be.
He takes a long drag, eyes narrowed, catlike, as he looks me over from my head to my feet. “You think I’m joking but I’m not. No self-respecting immortal would ever be seen looking like that.” He wags a finger at me. “And yet—and yet—feel free to keep the top—just be sure to change all the rest.” He leers, grinning at me in the most predatory way.
“Who owns this place?” I repeat, peering inside again, an idea beginning to form. This isn’t just any old vintage store. These are Roman’s own personal goods. The stuff he’s hoarded through the last six hundred years, doling them out diligently, selling at just the right time—a dealer of antiquities.
He squints, exhaling in a series of smoke rings as he says, “A friend owns it. It’s of no concern of yours.”
I narrow my gaze, knowing better. This is his store. He’s Haven’s boss, the one who signs her checks. But not wanting to let on I just say, “So you’ve made a friend. How sad for them.”
“Oh, I’ve made plenty.” He grins, taking another deep pull before tossing the butt and stomping it out with his shoe. “Unlike you, I don’t alienate people. I don’t hoard my gifts so to speak. I’m a populist, Ever. I give the people what they want.”
“And what’s that?” I ask, part of me wondering why I’m still here, dripping water onto the sidewalk, shivering in my wet jeans and see-thru tee only to engage in this useless, go-nowhere banter, while the other part’s stuck, unable to move.
He smiles, deep blue eyes boring into mine as he says, “Well, they want what they want now, don’t they?” His deep guttural laugh, almost like a growl, sending chills over my skin. “It’s not too hard to decipher. Perhaps you’d like to venture a guess?”
I peer over his shoulder, sure I saw something move. Hoping it’s Haven but finding the same girl I saw at his house that night—the night I was foolish enough to stop by. Her eyes meeting mine as she makes her way around the counter and approaches the door where we stand—all raven black hair, coal black eyes, and smooth dark skin—a beauty so exotic it robs me of breath.
“While it’s been nice chatting with you, Ever, I’m afraid it’s time for you to move along. No offense, darlin’, but you’re looking a bit—unkempt. Bad for business to have you loitering here. Might drive away all the customers, you understand? Though if it’s bus change you need—” He fishes around in his pocket, coming up with a handful of quarters arranged on his palm. “I’ve no idea how much these things cost—haven’t had to ride one since—”
“Since six hundred years ago,” I say, narrowing my gaze. Watching the girl stop and turn the second Roman wiggles his fingers, a signal for her to back away. A gesture someone else might’ve missed, but not me. Seeing her stop and head into a back room I can’t see.
I turn, knowing I’ve no business here. Roman’s voice calling out from behind me as I make my way down the street, shouting, “There were no buses six hundred years ago! You’d know that if you’d quit ditching history!”
But I just continue, refusing to play, almost to the corner when he reaches out and grips me with his mind: Hey, Ever—what do the people want? You might want to ponder that one, could be the clue that leads you to the antidote.
I stumble, hands seeking the wall, fighting to steady myself as the sound of Roman’s voice crowds my head. His lilting accent singing:
We’re not so different you and I. We’re very much the same. And it won’t be long now, darlin’, ’til you’ll get the chance to prove it. Won’t be long now ’til you finally pay the price.
Laughing heartily as he releases me and sends me on my way.
thirty-nine
The next day I head to work as though nothing happened, determined to get past that awkward embrace on the beach, not to mention a shared past that Jude not only has no recollection of, but that never came to fruition for a reason.
A reason named Damen.
But even though I rushed, Miles and Haven still managed to beat me, as they both lean on the counter, flirting with Jude.
“What’re you doing?” I ask, struggling to keep the panic to a minimum while glancing between the three of them—a triumphant Haven, a gleaming-eyed Miles, and a more than a little amused Jude.
“Spilling your secrets, exaggerating your flaws, oh, and inviting Jude here to my going away party—you know, in case you forget to.” Miles laughs.
I glance at Jude, cheeks flaming, unsure what to say. Still gazing at him when Haven adds, “And as luck would have it, he’s free that day!”
I make my way around the counter as though that’s perfectly fine, as though I couldn’t care less that the guy I’ve apparently spent the past several centuries hooking up with—the same guy my soul mate is convinced I have unfinished business with—will be partying in my living room in just a few days.
Haven picks up the flyer advertising Jude’s Psychic Development class and waves it in front of my face. “And how come you never mentioned this?” She frowns. “This kind of thing is right up my alley. You know how I’m totally into this stuff.” She turns to smile at Jude.
“Sorry, but I really didn’t.” I shrug, dropping my bag under the counter and grabbing the stool next to Jude. Refusing to go along with something that’s not even remotely true, and wondering just how soon I can convince them to leave.
“Well, I am. Have been for a while now.” She lifts her brow, looking at me in a way that dares me to refute it, but I refuse to bite. “Luckily, Jude said he’d try to squeeze me in,” she adds with a smirk.
I shoot him a look, a quick, hard, fleeting look, watching as his shoulders pull in ever so slightly as he shrugs and heads for the back room. Returning a moment later with his board hitched under his arm, waving at the three of us as he heads out the door.
“I can’t believe you kept him a secret!” Miles says, the second Jude’s gone. “That’s the worst kind of selfish! Especially when you already have a hottie of your own!”
“I can’t believe you kept this a secret,” Haven says, still gripping the flyer. “You’re lucky he’s letting me in!”
“I’m lucky?” I shake my head. The last thing I need is Haven developing any hidden psychic abilities when she intuits too much already—or at least where Damen and I are concerned. “Besides, class already started, which is why he said he’d try to fit you in.” Knowing I’ll do whatever it takes to turn that try into a can’t. “And what about work? Won’t it interfere?”
She shakes her head, eyes narrowed, my opposition making her more determined than ever. “Nah, they’re good with my schedule—won’t be a problem.”
“They?” I glance at her briefly, before reaching for the appointment book, thumbing through it in an attempt to appear blasé, uncommitted, when the truth is, I’ve gone high alert.
“The powers that be.” She laughs, looking at me. “My bosses, whatever.”
“Is Roman one of your bosses?” I glance at her briefly before turning the page.
“Um, hello? He’s in high school, remember?” She shakes her head and glances at Miles, the two of them exchanging a look I prefer not to read.
“I stopped by yesterday.” I study her closely, peering at her aura, her energy, stopping just shy of peeking into her head. “Roman said you weren’t there.”
“I know, he told me. Guess we just missed each other.” She shrugs. “But even though you think we’ve changed the subject, we haven’t. So tell me, what’s up with you and this class?” She stabs the flyer with her purple-painted nail, gaze narrowed o
n mine. “Why don’t you want me to take it? Is it because you like Jude?”
“No!” I glance between them, knowing it was too quick, too forceful, and only raised their suspicions. “I’m still with Damen,” I add, even though it’s not really true. But how can I admit it to them when I can’t even admit it to myself? “Just because he’s never at school doesn’t mean—” I stop and shake my head, knowing it’s better to end it right here. “But just so you know, Honor’s enrolled, and I pretty much figured you wouldn’t want to be in the same class as her.” My gaze fixes on hers, hoping that’ll stick.
“Seriously?” She and Miles both gape, four brown eyes taking me in.
“What about Stacia? And Craig?” Haven asks, ready to forget all about it if the entire Mean Team is in.
And even though I’m tempted to lie, I shake my head and say, “No, just her. Weird, huh?”
Haven’s aura flickers and flares, weighing the pros and cons of developing her psychic skills alongside a bully like Honor. Looking around the store as she says, “So what exactly do you do here? Do you give readings and stuff?”
“Me? No!” I press my lips together and reach for the box of receipts, flipping through them for no other reason than to avoid her piercing gaze.
“So who’s this Avalon chick? She any good?”
I freeze, eyes darting between them, unable to speak.
“Um, hello? Earth to Ever! The sign, right behind you, the one that says: BOOK YOUR READING WITH AVALON TODAY!” She shakes her head. Only half joking when she says, “Jeez, you really do just slide by on your good looks, don’t you?”
“Sign me up!” Miles says. “I’d love a reading with Avalon. Maybe she can tell me where all the hotties hang out in Florence.” He laughs.
“Sign me up too.” Haven nods. “I’ve always wanted a reading, and I could really use one about now. Is she here?” She glances around.
I swallow hard. I should’ve known it would come to this. Damen warned me of this very thing.
“Um, hello?” Haven waves, exchanging a look with Miles. “We’d like to book a reading, please. I mean, you do work here, right?”
I reach under the counter, grasping the book, flipping through it so quickly the dates and names are a blur of black letters on white. Slamming it shut and stashing it away again when I say, “She’s booked.”
“O—kay.” Haven narrows her gaze, totally onto me now. “Then how about tomorrow?”
I shake my head.
“The next day.”
“Still booked.”
“Next week.”
“Sorry.”
“Next year.”
I shrug.
“What’s your deal?” She squints.
I pause, seeing how they’re both staring at me, convinced I’m either holding something back, have completely lost it, or both. Knowing I need to do what I can to dispel that when I say, “I just don’t think you should waste your money. She’s not all that great. We’ve had some complaints.”
Miles shakes his head, looking at me when he says, “Way to close a deal, Ever.”
But Haven’s unmoved, gaze fixed on mine, head nodding slowly as she adds, “Well, I’m sure this isn’t the only place where I can get a reading. And for some reason, for some strange, unknown reason, now I’m more determined than ever.” Slinging her bag over her shoulder and grabbing Miles’s hand, pulling him alongside her as she heads for the door and says, “I don’t know what’s going on with you, but you’ve been acting really strange. Stranger than usual.” Glancing over her shoulder and shooting me a loaded look I prefer not to interpret. “Seriously, Ever, if you’re into Jude, then just say so. Though you might want to tell Damen first—he deserves the courtesy, don’t you think?”
“I’m not into Jude.” I shrug, trying to appear calm, even, but failing miserably. Besides it’s not like it matters, they’re already convinced. Everyone’s convinced. Everyone but me. “And trust me, there’s nothing going on except finals, planning for Miles’s party, and all—the usual—stuff—” My voice trailing off, knowing not one of us is buying it.
“Then where’s Damen? How come he never comes around anymore?” Haven asks, as Miles stands beside her and nods. Allowing me a few seconds to answer before adding, “You know, friendships are supposed to work both ways. Give and take. Based on trust. But for whatever reason, you think you need to act perfect all the time. Like nothing ever goes wrong in your perfect, pretty life. Like nothing ever bothers you or drags you down. And I’m here to tell you that believe it or not, Miles and I will still love you even if you have an imperfect moment. Heck, even if you have an imperfect day, we’ll still sit with you at lunch and text you in class. Because, trust us, Ever, it’s not like we’re buying your perfect act anyway.”
I take a deep breath and nod. It’s all I can do. My throat is so hot and tight there’s no way I can speak.
Knowing they’re waiting, both of them, standing by the door, willing to stay if I’ll just say the word, find the courage to open up and trust them enough to unburden myself for a change.
But I can’t. Who knows how they’d react, and I have enough to deal with already.
So I just smile and wave and promise to catch up with them later. Trying not to wince as they roll their eyes and leave.
forty
I’m in the back room, hunched over the book when Jude comes in, surprised to find I’m still here.
“I saw your car parked out back and wanted to make sure you’re okay.” He pauses in the doorway, eyes narrowed, taking me in, before dropping onto the chair just opposite the desk where he studies me some more.
I gaze up from the book, eyes bleary as I glance at the clock, surprised to see how late it’s gotten, surprised to see I’ve been here so long.
“I guess I got a little caught up.” I shrug. “It’s a lot to slog through.” Closing the cover and pushing it aside as I add, “And most of it useless.”
“You don’t have to pull an all-nighter, you know. You can take it home if you want.”
I think about home, and the message Sabine left for me earlier, informing me of her plans to cook dinner for Munoz, making home pretty much the last place I want to be at this point.
“No thanks.” I shake my head. “I’m done.” Realizing I mean it in every possible way.
For a book that once held such promise, all I’ve read so far are location spells, love spells, and a dubious cure for warts with inconclusive results—nothing about reversing the effects of a tainted elixir—or how to get a certain someone to divulge the only thing I really need to know.
Nothing that holds the slightest bit of promise for me.
“Can I help?” he asks, reading the defeat in my gaze.
I start to shake my head, knowing he can’t. But then I think better. Maybe he can?
“Is she here?” I stare at him, holding my breath. “Riley—is she around?”
He looks to my right, then shakes his head. “Sorry.” He shrugs. “Haven’t seen her since—”
But even though his voice fades, we both know how it ends. He hasn’t seen her since yesterday, just before Damen caught us embracing on the beach—a moment I prefer to forget.
“So how exactly do you teach someone to—you know—see spirits?”
He looks at me for a moment, rubbing his chin as his eyes study mine. “I can’t necessarily teach someone to see them.” He leans back in his seat, propping his bare foot on his knee. “Everybody’s different—with different gifts and abilities. Some are naturally clairvoyant—able to see, or clairaudient—able to hear, or clairsentient—”
“Able to sense.” I nod, already knowing where this is going and eager to get to the good stuff—the juice—the part that helps me. “So what are you then?”
“All three. Oh, and clairscent too.” He smiles, a quick easy grin that practically lights up the room and makes my stomach go all weird again. “You probably are too. All of those I mean. The trick is to get your vibration rais
ed high enough, then I’m sure—” He looks at me, knowing he lost me at vibration and adding, “Everything is energy, you know that, right?”
The words bringing me back to that night on the beach just a few weeks before, when Damen said the very same thing, about energy, vibrations, all of it. Remembering how I felt then, so afraid of confiding what I’d done. Naïve enough to think that was the worst of my problems, that it couldn’t get any worse.
I gaze at Jude, his mouth still moving as he goes on and on, explaining energy, vibration, and the ability of the soul to live on. But all I can think about is the three of us, Damen, me, and him—wondering how we truly do fit.
“What do you think of past lives?” I ask, cutting him off. “You know, reincarnation. Do you believe in that stuff? Do you think people really have leftover karma they need to work out, again and again until they get it just right?” Holding my breath, wondering how he’ll respond, if he has any recollection of us, who we once were.
“Why not?” He shrugs. “Karma’s pretty much king. Besides, wasn’t it Eleanor Roosevelt who said she didn’t think it would be any more unusual for her to show up in another life, than the one she was in now? You think I’m gonna quash old Eleanor?” He laughs.
I sit back, studying him, wishing he knew about our tangled past. If for no other reason than to get it all out in the open, put it right there on the table, so I could report back to Damen and prove that it’s over. And figuring maybe it’s my job to get the ball rolling, I take a deep breath and say, “Have you ever heard of someone named Bastiaan de Kool?”
He looks at me, squinting.
“He was—Dutch—an artist—he painted—and—stuff—” I shake my head and look away, feeling foolish for bringing it up. I mean, what exactly am I supposed to follow that with? Well, just so you know, Bastiaan was you, several hundred years ago—and the person you painted was me!
