by Alyson Noel
Seeing him sit there before me, lips quirked, shoulders lifted, clearly unaware of what I’m getting at. And short of escorting him to Summerland and re-creating the gallery, neither of which I’m going to do, there’s no way to continue. I’ll just have to sit this one out. Wait until my three lonely months are up.
I shake my head, determined to put it behind me and get down to the business at hand. Looking at him and clearing my throat when I say, “So, how exactly does one raise their vibration?”
By the time we’re done, I’m no closer to talking to dead people than I was before I started. At least not the dead person I’m actually interested in. Though plenty of other disincarnates made themselves known, but I pretty much blocked them all out.
“It takes practice.” He locks the front door and leads me to my car. “I sat in a weekly spirit circle for years before my powers fully returned.”
“I thought you were born with it?” I squint.
“I was.” He nods. “But after blocking it out for so long, I had to really work to develop it again.”
I sigh, unable to see myself joining a séance group and wishing there was an easier way.
“She visits you in your dreams, you know.”
I roll my eyes, remembering that one crazy dream, and knowing no way was that her.
But he just looks at me, nodding when he says. “Of course she does. They always do. It’s the easiest way to get through.”
I look at him, leaning against my car door, key in hand as my eyes travel his face. Knowing I should go, say good night and be on my way, but for some reason I’m unable to move.
“The subconscious mind takes over at night, freeing us of all the usual restrictions we put on ourselves, all the things we block out, telling ourselves it can’t happen, that mystical things aren’t really possible, when the truth is, the universe is magical, and mysterious, and much grander than it seems, with only the thinnest veil of energy separating us from them. I know it’s confusing with the way they communicate in symbols—and to be honest, I’m not sure how much of that is us—the way we arrange information—or them, and the restrictions on just how much they’re allowed to share.”
I take a deep breath, my whole body shivering though I’m not really cold. Spooked is more like it. Spooked by his words, his presence, the way he’s making me feel. But not cold. In fact, not at all.
Wondering what Riley could’ve meant with the glass prison, the way I could see Damen, but he couldn’t see me. Trying to view it as though it’s an assignment for English, like symbolism in a book. Wondering if it means that Damen’s misguided, can’t see what’s in front of him? And if so, what does that mean?
“Just because you can’t see something doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist,” he says, his voice the only sound in this still and quiet night.
I nod, feeling like I should know that better than anyone as Jude stands before me, going on and on about dimensions, the afterlife, and how time’s just a made-up concept that doesn’t really exist, and I can’t help but wonder what he’d do if I gave him a treat. Just grabbed his hand, closed my eyes, and took him to Summerland to show him just how deep it really goes—
He catches me, catches me looking. My gaze roaming his smooth dark skin, golden dreadlocks, the scar splicing his brow, until finally meeting those sea green eyes, so deep, so knowing, I quickly look away.
“Ever—” he groans, voice low, thick, as he reaches for me. “Ever—I—”
But I just shake my head and turn away, climbing into my car and backing out of the space. Glancing into my rearview mirror to find him still standing there, still looking after me, his longing displayed in his gaze.
Shaking my head and focusing back on the road, telling myself that particular past, the things I once felt, have nothing to do with my future.
forty-one
Originally the party was supposed to be Saturday, but with Miles leaving early next week, and with so much to do between now and then, we moved it to Thursday, the last day of school.
And even though I know better, even though I’m fully aware that Damen is a man of his word, I’m still disappointed when I walk into English and find he’s not there.
I glance at Stacia, her eyes narrowing, lips smirking, extending her foot as I try to move past, as Honor sits beside her, playing along despite the fact that she can barely meet my eyes—not with the secret we share.
And as I take my seat and gaze around the room, one thing is clear—everyone has a partner, a friend, someone to talk to—everyone but me. Having spent the better part of the year befriending someone who refuses to show, his seat beside mine, woefully empty.
Like a big block of ice where the sun used to be.
So as Mr. Robins yammers on and on about stuff no one really cares about, including him, I distract myself by lowering my shield and aiming my quantum remote at all of my classmates, filling the room with a cacophony of color and sound, remembering how my life used to be—my life before Damen when I was constantly overwhelmed.
Tuning in to Mr. Robins who’s looking forward to the moment the final bell rings so he can enjoy a nice long summer free of us, then Craig who’s planning to break up with Honor by the end of the day so he can make the most of the next three months. And over to Stacia who still has no memory of her brief time with Damen, though she’s definitely still into him. Having recently discovered where he surfs, she’s planning to spend the summer in a revolving collection of bikinis, determined to start senior year on his arm. And even though it bugs me to see that, I force myself to shrug it off and move on to Honor, surprised to see her agenda’s full—having nothing to do with Stacia or Craig—and everything to do with her growing interest in the craft.
I narrow my focus, tuning everyone out in order to better see her, curious to know what’s driving this sudden interest in magick, assuming it’s some harmless crush on Jude, and surprised to see it’s nothing like that. She’s tired of being the shadow cast by the spotlight, the B that follows the A. Tired of life on the second rung, and is planning the day when the tables are turned.
She glances over her shoulder and looks right at me, eyes narrowing as though she knows what I see and dares me to stop her. Still holding the look when Stacia nudges her arm, looks at me, and mouths the word freak.
I roll my eyes, starting to turn away when she swings her hair over her shoulder and leans toward me, looking me over when she says, “So, what happened to Damen? Did your spell stop working? Did he find out you’re a witch?”
I shake my head and lean back in my seat, legs crossed, hands folded on my desk, projecting a picture of absolute calm as I shoot her a look so long and deep she can’t help but squirm. Convinced I’m the only witch in the room, having no idea that her minion has her own magick coup planned.
Flicking my gaze back toward Honor, sensing her defiance, a newly summoned strength she never exhibited before, our gaze holding, stretching, until I finally look away. Telling myself it’s none of my business—I’ve no right to interfere in their friendship—no right to intrude.
Shutting out all the color and sound as I glance down at my desk, doodling a field of red tulips onto my notebook, having seen more than enough for one day.
When I get to history Roman is there, loitering just outside the door as he talks with some guy I’ve never seen before. The two of them stopping the moment I approach, turning toward me to get a good look.
I reach for the door just as Roman blocks it, smiling when my hand accidentally skims his hip, and laughing even harder when I cringe and pull away. His deep blue eyes meeting mine when he says, “Have you two met?” He nods toward his friend.
I roll my eyes, wanting only to get to class and get it over with, put this whole miserable junior year behind me and fully prepared to knock him out of my way if I have to.
His tongue clucking inside his cheek when he says, “So un-friendly. Seriously, Ever, your manners are lacking. But far be it from me to force it. Some other day p
erhaps.”
He nods at his friend, prompting him to leave, and I’m just about to barge into class when I glimpse something on the periphery—the lack of an aura—the physical perfection—and I’m sure if I looked hard enough I’d find an Ouroboros tattoo to confirm it.
“What are you up to?” I say, my gaze switching to Roman. Wondering if his friend is one of the long-lost orphans, or some unfortunate soul he’s more recently turned.
Seeing the smile that widens his cheeks when he says, “It’s all part of the riddle, Ever. The one you’ll be called upon to solve very soon. But for now, why don’t you just head inside and brush up on your history. Trust me.” He laughs, opening the door and waving me in. “There’s no need to hurry. Your time will come soon.”
forty-two
Even though I told Sabine she could invite Munoz to the party, she’s smart enough to recognize a halfhearted offer when she hears it—so luckily for us, they made other plans.
I ready the house with all things Italian—platters of spaghetti, pizza, cannelloni—balloons that are red, white, and green—and a profusion of paintings—manifested replicas of Primavera and Birth of Venus by Botticelli, Titian’s Venus of Urbino, Michelangelo’s Doni Tondo, as well as a life-sized statue of David out by the pool. All the while remembering the time Riley and I decorated the house for that fateful Halloween party—the night I kissed Damen—the night I met Ava and Drina—the night that changed everything.
Pausing to glance around and take it all in before heading for the couch and assuming the lotus position. Closing my eyes and concentrating on raising my vibration just like Jude taught me, missing Riley so much I’ve committed to my own séance circle, determined to practice a little each day until she appears.
Quieting my mind of all the usual chatter and noise, keeping myself open, alert to all that surrounds me. Hoping for some sort of shift, an unexplained chill, a whisper of sound, some sort of signal to prove that she’s near—but getting only a stream of bossy ghosts who are nothing like the sassy, twelve-year-old sister I seek.
And I’m just about to call it quits when a tremulous form starts to shimmer before me—leaning forward, straining to see it—when two high-pitched voices say, “What’re you doing?”
The second I see them I spring to my feet, knowing he brought them, and hoping I can still catch him before he leaves.
My flight halted when Romy places her hand on my arm, shaking her head when she says, “We took the shuttle and walked the rest of the way. I’m sorry. Damen’s not here.”
I glance between them, breathless, bereft, struggling to compose myself when I say, “Oh. So, what’s up?” Wondering if they’re here for the party, if Haven somehow invited them.
“We need to talk to you.” Romy and Rayne glance at each other before focusing on me. “There’s something you need to know.”
I swallow hard, eager for them to spill it, tell me just how unhappy and miserable Damen’s become—regretting his decision to separate—desperately wanting me back—
“It’s about Roman,” Rayne says, eyes hard on mine, reading my expression if not my thoughts. “We think he’s making others—other immortals like you.”
“Except not really like you.” Romy adds. “Since you’re nice and not at all evil like him.”
Rayne shrugs and looks all around, not quite willing to include me in that.
“Does Damen know?” I glance between them, wanting to fill up the room with his name, shout it over and over again.
“Yeah, but he won’t do anything.” She sighs. “Says they have every right to be here so long as they don’t pose a threat.”
“And do they?” My eyes dart between them. “Pose a threat?”
They look at each other, communicating in their own silent twin speak before turning to me. “We’re not sure. Rayne’s starting to get some of her feeling back—and sometimes it seems like my visions might be returning—but it’s pretty slow going—so we were wondering if we could maybe have a look at the book. You know, the Book of Shadows, the one you keep at the store. We think it might help.”
I look at them, eyes narrowed, suspicious, wondering if they’re truly concerned about Roman’s minions or just trying to play me against Damen to get what they want. And yet, there’s no doubt it’s true. From last count, there were three new immortals in town, all connected to Roman. All possibly up to no good. Though it’s also true they’ve done nothing to prove that so far.
But still, not wanting them to think I’m a total pushover I say, “And Damen’s okay with this?” The three of us looking at each other, the three of us knowing he’s not.
They glance at each other in silent communion before turning to me. Rayne taking the lead when she says, “Listen, we need help. Damen’s way is too slow, and at this rate, we’ll be thirty before our powers return, and I’m not sure who wants that less—us or you?” She shoots me a look and I shrug, making no move to refute it since we both know it’s true. “We need something that’ll work, give quicker results, and we have nowhere to turn but to you and the book.”
I glance between them, then look at my watch, wondering if I can get to the store, get them the book, and make it back in time for the party, which, considering how fast I move, and that the party’s still hours away, it’s clear that I can.
“Run, walk, whatever it takes.” Rayne nods, knowing it’s as good as done. “We’ll wait for you here.”
I head for the garage, at first thinking a run would be nice, if nothing else it makes me feel strong and invincible and not quite so inadequate against the problems I face. But since it’s still light out, I drive instead. Arriving at the store to find Jude locking up early, key stuck in the door as he says, “Aren’t you supposed to be throwing a party?” He squints, gaze moving over me, taking in my tee, shorts, and flip-flops.
“I forgot something.” I nod. “It’ll just take a sec—so—go ahead—no worries—I can lock up.”
He cocks his head, aware that something’s up but still opening the door and waving me in. Trailing behind, right on my heels, watching from the doorway as I open the drawer and lift the secret latch. Just about to retrieve the book when he says, “You’re never gonna believe who came in today.” I glance at him briefly, then open my bag, shoving the book deep inside when he adds, “Ava.”
I freeze, eyes seeking his.
“Tell me.”
He nods.
I swallow hard, stomach like a Ping-Pong ball, bouncing furiously as I find my voice again. “What did she want?”
“Her job, I guess.” He shrugs. “She’s been freelancing—wants something more stable. Seemed pretty surprised when I told her I’d hired you instead.”
“You told her? About me?”
He shifts uncomfortably, from one foot to the next, looking at me when he says, “Well, yeah. I figured since you guys were friends and all—”
“And what did she do? When you told her? What exactly did she say?” Heart beating overtime, eyes never once leaving his.
“Nothing, really. Though she seemed pretty surprised.”
“Surprised that I was here—or surprised that you hired me? Which surprised her more?”
He just stands there and squints, hardly the answer I need.
“Did she mention anything about Damen—or me—or Roman—or say anything else? Anything at all? You have to tell me everything—leave nothing out—”
He backs into the hall, hands raised in mock surrender. “Trust me, that was pretty much it. She split after that, so there’s nothing to tell. Now come on, let’s go. You don’t want to be late to your own party, do you?”
forty-three
Even though Jude offered to follow me home and help set things up, I didn’t want him to know I’d gotten the book for the twins. So I made up some bogus excuse about needing plastic cups and asked him to stop by the store to get some, preferably red, white, and/or green, then I broke the speed limits all the way home where I handed over the goods.
They glance at each other, obviously not liking it but all out of options.
“Have you read it?” Romy peers at me.
I shrug. “I tried to intuit it, but I didn’t get much. It’s more like a diary than anything else.”
Rayne rolls her eyes and reaches for it again, as her sister says, “You need to look deeper, read between the lines.”
I glance between them, not understanding.
“You’re skimming the surface. The book’s not only written in the Theban code, the words themselves are a code.”
“It’s a code within a code,” Rayne says. “Protected by a spell. Didn’t Jude tell you?”
I freeze, glancing between them, thinking he most certainly did not.
“Come, on, we’ll show you,” Romy says, her twin grabbing the book as we head up the stairs. “We’ll give you a lesson.”
I leave the twins in the den, the two of them still hunched over the book, as I head for my walk-in closet and reach for the box stashed up high on the shelf. Retrieving my assortment of crystals and candles, oils and herbs, all the stuff that’s left over from the elixirs I made just before the blue moon, and manifesting whatever’s left on the list, which turns out to be sandalwood incense, and an athame—a double-edged knife with a jewel-encrusted handle much like the dagger Damen made.
Getting it all laid out and organized before slipping out of my clothes and removing my amulet. Placing it on a shelf next to the metallic clutch purse Sabine gave me a couple months back, knowing the deep V in the dress I plan to wear offers no place to hide the assortment of stones. Besides, after the ritual I’m planning to do, I’ll no longer need it.
