by Alyson Noel
“That’s quite a bounty you got there,” she says as I take it all in, trying to see it in the same way she sees it, more as a celebration of my existence and less a reminder of those who are missing.
I drop onto my desk chair and kick off my sandals, sensing she’s here for a purpose and hoping she’ll hurry up and get to it.
“I won’t keep you long—it’s late and you’re probably tired,” she says, accurately reading my mood.
And even though I start to protest, out of politeness if nothing else, I don’t get very far before I stop. Because as nice as it is to visit with her, as seldom as I get to see her alone these days, I really do wish we could push this little visit to tomorrow. I’m just not up for one of her long, meandering talks.
But, of course, that particular mood she doesn’t sense, she just looks me over with her narrowed gaze when she says, “So, how’s everything—your job—Damen? I hardly ever see you these days.”
I nod, assuring her it’s all good, careful to put a little oomph into the word, hoping it’ll serve to convince her.
She nods, gaze lightening in relief when she adds, “Well, you look good. You got so thin there for a while that I—” She shakes her head, a trace of just how worried she was clouding her gaze and making me feel about this big. “But you seem to be filling out again. Your skin’s all cleared up too—which is good—” She presses down on her lips, as though carefully weighing what she’s about to say next, before plunging ahead. “You know, Ever, when I said I wanted you to work this summer, I didn’t exactly mean it quite in the way that you took it. I was referring more to a part-time gig, something to keep you occupied for a few hours each day, but the way you’ve been going at it—” She stops and shakes her head. “Well, I’m pretty sure you’re putting in more hours than I am. And now with just a handful of weeks until school starts again—well, I think you should consider giving notice, so you can enjoy a little time on the beach, spend some time with your friends.”
“What friends?” I shrug, feeling that sting at the back of each eye as my stomach takes a little dip. But still, I said it. Admitted a truth so painful, she can’t help but shift and gaze at the floor. Taking a moment to compose herself before lifting her eyes to meet mine and motioning toward the pile of birthday booty when she says, “Well, excuse me for saying so, but I think the evidence proves otherwise.”
I close my eyes and shake my head, furiously dabbing at my cheeks as I quickly turn away, thinking of the one friend who wasn’t there today, who probably won’t be there ever again, thanks to the monster and me.
“Hey—you okay?” She reaches toward me, wanting only to comfort, but pulling away just as quickly, remembering how finicky I am about being touched.
I take a deep breath and nod, knowing how much she worries, and wishing I hadn’t dragged her into this. Because the truth is, I am okay. Like she said, my clothes no longer hang on me, my skin is clear, my relationship is back on track, and that horrible beast, that strange foreign pulse that once ruled me, hasn’t been seen or heard from since that night on the beach. And even though there will always be that huge gaping hole my family’s absence has left, even though I’ll have to say good-bye to Sabine someday soon, Damen will always be there. If he’s proved nothing else this past year, it’s clear that he’s fully committed to me—to us. No matter how bad things get, he’s not the least bit put off. And in the end, that’s all I can ask. Everything else, well, it just is what it is.
I look at Sabine and nod, firmer this time, like I truly do mean it. I made up my mind months ago, pledged my allegiance to immortality and now there’s no looking back—just a long forward march into infinity.
“Just a small case of the birthday blues, I guess.” Looking at her when I add, “Surely you’re familiar with the pain of growing older?” Smiling in a way that starts at my lips but creeps all the way up to my eyes—a smile that encourages her to smile too.
“You have my sympathies.” She laughs. “Though you’ll have them even more when it’s your turn to 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 when I found it, but I was also hoping you could carve out some time from your busy schedule so that we could have lunch and go shopping.”
I nod. “I’d like that,” I tell her, realizing just after I said it that I really, really would. It’s been a while since we’ve enjoyed some good, girly fun.
“Oh, and the other one—the card”—she shrugs—“it came today. I found it shoved under the door when I got home. I have no idea who it’s from, though it’s clearly addressed to you.”
I glance at the dresser, taking in a rectangular package beside a large pink envelope that almost seems to—glow—only in a foreboding, ominous way.
“Anyway, I just wanted to wish you a happy birthday.” She peeks at the clock. “You’ve only got a few minutes left, so be sure to enjoy it!”
The second the door closes behind her I make for the dresser and grab the box. Its contents revealed the instant I touch it.
I tear off the paper as fast as I can, dropping the shredded bits to the floor and lifting the lid to reveal a slim, purple leather photo album containing all the photos Riley took on that fateful trip to the lake—including the one I saw in Summerland. And as I flip through them, I can’t help but wonder if she somehow arranged this—if she can see this—see me? But I don’t call out to her again, that never leads anywhere anymore. I just wipe my face of tears and whisper a quiet Thanks. Placing it on my nightstand, knowing I’ll want to keep it someplace close where I can look at it again and again. Then I reach for the envelope with my name inscribed on its front in an overly formal scrawl—sucking in my breath as it shimmers and glows in my hand, and knowing from the way my whole body chills it’s from him.
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 lower left corner, where Roman’s written a note in his loopy, cursive scrawl, reads:
It’s time to claim that which you most desire
Today on your birthday I’ll grant a cease-fire
Be at my house before midnight tonight
A second too late and this offer expires
Hope to see you soon!
Roman
xoxo
twenty-five
By the time I get to Roman’s I have only minutes to spare. Two to be exact, and I’m hoping his clock is reflecting that too. But this time, instead of charging the door like I usually do, I rap my knuckles against it and wait. Because if we truly are calling a truce like he says, then a show of manners can’t hurt.
I wait, adding up the seconds as I glance at my watch, the soft sound of his approaching feet signaling that my moment has come—the result of magick done right.
The door swings open and he stands there before me, all sparkly blue eyes, glistening white teeth, and suntanned skin. A black silky robe kind of thing, what was once called a smoking jacket, hanging loose off his shoulders, exposing an ample expanse of bare chest, abs that are remarkably defined, and a pair of old faded jeans that hang low on his hips.
And that’s all it takes. One passing glance at the bounty before me and my body begins to tremble, my knees start to sag, and my pulse quickens in a way so horrible, so dreadfully familiar, a new understanding slowly creeps over me:
The monster isn’t slain! Isn’t banished at all! It merely retreated, hunkered down somewhere deep, biding its time, and rebuilding its strength until it could rise up again . . .
I swallow hard, forcing a nod as though everything’s fine. Aware of his gaze sweeping over me, not missing a thing, knowing I need to get through this no matter what, there’s no way I can fail when
everything I need is so well within my reach.
He motions me in, head cocked to the side. “Glad to see you’re on time,” he says, studying me carefully.
I turn, not even halfway down the hall before I stop and reconsider. Seeing the look of amusement that crosses his face as the color drains from mine. “Just in time for what, exactly? What’s this about?” I narrow my gaze, pressing up against the wall as he slinks past and urges me to follow.
“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, I daresay not nearly as special as I’m about to make it.”
I stand my ground, refusing to budge. But despite the fact that my hands and legs are so shaky it feels as though the sockets are coming loose, my voice stays controlled, measured, giving nothing away. “Fulfilling your promise and giving me what I want will make it special enough. No need to offer me a seat I won’t take, and a drink I’ll refuse. Why don’t we just fast-forward from here and get to it, okay?”
He looks at me, eyes creasing with laughter as a smile tugs at his lips. “Wow, that Damen’s one lucky bloke.” He shakes his head and rakes his fingers through his golden tousle of curls. “None of that time-wasting foreplay for you. Seems our little Ever here would rather skip right past the appetizers and get to the main course—and, luv, I can’t applaud you loudly enough for that.”
I force my face to remain blank, impassive, despite how much his words may disturb me. Painfully aware of this dark flame burning hotter inside me, now fanned by his presence.
“And while you may not desire a drink or a seat, as it just so happens I do. And since I’m the host of this little soiree, I’m afraid you’ll just have to humor me.”
He swoops toward the den in a swirl of black silk, sidling behind the bar and filling a heavy crystal goblet with a generous splash of red. Wiggling the glass before me, encouraging the opalescent liquid to spark and shine as it runs up and down the sides, reminding me of what Haven once said about it being more potent than Damen’s and wondering if it’s true. If it gives them some sort of advantage—if it would work that way for me too or end up making me as crazy and dangerous as them.
I rub my lips together and struggle to steady myself. My fingers growing fidgety, twitchy, knowing it’s not much longer before I lose it completely.
“So sorry about your little problem with Haven.” Roman nods, raising his glass and taking a long, steady sip. “But people change, you know? Not all friendships are built to last.”
“I haven’t given up.” I shrug, the words ringing with far more assurance than I feel. “I’m sure we’ll be able to work it out,” I add, that strange foreign pulse throbbing within me when he tilts his head to the side and allows his Ouroboros tattoo to flash in and out of view.
“You sure about that, luv?” He looks at me, fingers idly circling the stem of his glass as his gaze moves over me in that slow, leisurely, intimate way that he has. Choosing to linger on the deep V of my dress when he says, “I mean, no offense darlin’, but I beg to differ. It’s been my experience that when two determined birds want the same thing—well, someone’s bound to get hurt—or worse—as you well know.”
I move toward him—not the monster but me (though the monster certainly doesn’t object), gaze fixed on his when I say, “But Haven and I don’t want the same thing. She wants you and I want something entirely different.”
He peers at me from over the rim of his glass, the goblet obscuring everything but his steely blue gaze. “Oh, yeah, and what’s that, luv?”
“You already know.” I shrug, moving my hand from my hip and clasping it behind my back so he can’t see the way it trembles and shakes. “Isn’t that why you summoned me here?”
He nods, setting his drink on the gold-beaded coaster. “Still, I’d love to hear you say it. Love to hear the words spoken out loud—from your lips to my ears.”
I take a deep breath, take in his heavy-lidded gaze, wide inviting lips, and broad expanse of chest, my gaze lured down to his abs, and lower still, when I say, “The antidote.” Pushing the words past my lips, wondering if he has any idea of the battle waging inside me. “I want the antidote,” I repeat, firmer this time. Adding, “As you well know.”
And before I can stop it, he’s standing beside me. Face composed, hands relaxed, hanging loose at his sides. The chill of his skin emanating over me in a wave of cool, sweet relief when he says, “I want you to know that I brought you here with the purest intentions. After seeing the way you’ve suffered over these past few months, I’m fully prepared to call it off and give you what you want. And even though it’s been a good bit of fun, or at least it has for me anyway.” He shrugs. “Much like you, Ever, I’m ready to move on. Back to London, that is. This town’s too laid back for my tastes, I require a bit more action than this.”
“You’re leaving?” I blurt, the words coming so quickly I’m not sure who’s responsible for voicing them.
“Does that upset you?” He smiles, gaze searching my face.
“Hardly.” I scowl, rolling my eyes and averting my gaze, hoping to distract him from the tremor in my voice.
“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, and seeing as it’s your birthday and all, I thought I’d start with you. Give you the gift you want most. The one thing you want more than anything else in the world, that no other person, living or dead, could ever give you—” He trails his finger down my arm, lightly, quickly, the memory of it lingering long after he’s turned away and moved on.
I stare at his retreating back, knowing I can’t afford this, can’t afford to slip up. Reminding myself of the magical feel of Damen’s lips just a few hours before, and how very close I am to reclaiming that—but only if I can keep myself in check.
Roman turns, finger beckoning for me to follow and tsking at my resistance when he says, “Trust me, luv, I’ve no plans to trick you or drag you off to my chambers.” He shakes his head and laughs. “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 technical planned. And speaking of, have you ever taken a lie detector test?”
I narrow my gaze, having no idea what he’s getting at but sure it’s a trap. Eyes on his back as he leads me down the hall, through the kitchen, and out the back door, all the way past the hot tub perched off the side of the porch, and over to a room, like a converted detached garage that, upon entering, seems equal parts antiquities storehouse and mad-scientist lab.
“I hate to say it, luv, and believe me, I mean absolutely no offense, but you have been known to lie on occasion—mostly on the occasions when it benefits you. And since I’m a man of integrity, since I promised to give you the one thing you truly want more than anything else in the world, I feel it’s only right that we’re both completely clear on just what that is. There’s clearly something odd going on between you and me. Do I really need to remind you of how you threw yourself at me the last time you were here?”
“It’s not—” I start, not getting very far before he holds up his hand.
“Please.” He smirks. “Spare me the excuses, luv. I have a much more direct way of getting the answers I seek.”
I press my lips into a frown, having seen enough TV crime shows to recognize the contraption he’s leading me toward. Fully expecting me to strap myself in and consent to a polygraph test I’ve no doubt he’s rigged.
“Forget it,” I say, spinning on my heel, ready to leave. “You’re just gonna have to take me at my word, or the deal’s off.”
Having just reached the door when he says, “Well, there is something else we can try.”
I stop.
“And trust me, there’s no way to rig this one, especially for people like
us. And as it just so happens, it fits right in with all of that metaphysical everything is energy and joined as one crap you’re so enamored of.”
I sigh loudly, audibly, tapping my foot against the floor, hoping to release some of this energy building inside me, as well as clue him in to just how impatient I’m getting.
But Roman’s not about to be hurried, or rushed, or operate on any sort of schedule other than his own. His fingers absently picking at a loose thread on his jacket as he looks me over and says, “You see, Ever, the thing is, it’s been scientifically proven that the truth is always, always stronger than a lie. That if you were to measure the two side by side—pit one against the other, so to speak—the truth would always be the victor. What do you think?”
I roll my eyes, the act alone signaling what I think of that and just about everything else that’s taken place up to this point.
But Roman’s unmoved, determined to play it his way when he says, “And as it just so happens, there’s a very easy way in which to test this—one that cannot be rigged and requires nothing more than your own physiology. Care to try?”
Uh, not really! I start to say, want to say, but the monster is rising and won’t let me speak, which only encourages Roman to continue.
“Now, would you or would you not say that we’re both of equal strength? That among our kind there are no real physical differences in terms of strength and speed between men and women?”
I shrug, never having really thought about it either way and not really interested in starting now.
“So, with that in mind, I’d like to demonstrate something I think you’ll find quite interesting. And, on a side note, I assure you I’m not trying to play you, it’s not a game, and no one gets hurt. I’m sincere about giving you the thing you want most, and this is the best way I can think of to determine what that is. I’ll even go first, so you can see I have no tricks up my sleeve—so to speak.”
