by Alyson Noel
I squint, wondering if that was some kind of thinly veiled threat. Just about to inform her that I have way bigger fish to fry, that refereeing her popularity showdown with Stacia is of absolutely no interest to me—when I see Haven.
Standing at the end of the hall, gaze entwining with mine until everything dims but the chill of her energy, the sharp stabbing pierce of her limitless hate, and the curl of her summoning finger.
And the next thing I know, I’m off. Honor’s voice reduced to a vague and distant hum as I chase after the train of Haven’s azure-blue gown. Floating, beckoning, as she disappears around a corner, and I race to keep up.
six
I stand before the door, eyes closed, taking a moment to engage in one of the fast and simple mini-meditations Ava taught me in order to empower myself. Imagining a radiant white light coursing through my body and seeping through all of my cells, as my fingers anxiously seek the amulet I wear at my neck. The collection of crystals meant to keep me from harm and guard all of my chakras, especially my fifth—the center for the lack of discernment and a misuse of information—my one major weakness that, if targeted, will doom me to the infinite abyss.
Stealing a second to tune in to Damen, to let him know there’s a good chance it’s started, while also reminding him of his promise to stay put unless I specifically call out for his help.
Then I take a deep breath and push my way in, moving across the ugly pink tiled floor, stopping just shy of the row of white sinks that jut out from the wall. My posture relaxed, arms loose by my sides, watching as Haven kicks open the door of every last stall, making sure we’re alone, before she turns, places her hands on her hips, cocks her head to the side, and shoots me an appraising look that does nothing to mar her newly enhanced face.
“And so begins senior year.” She smirks, the sapphire marking the space just above and between her brows, catching the fluorescent light and glinting at me as she smiles in a way that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “How are you finding it so far? Your teachers—your classes—is it everything you dreamed it would be?”
I shrug, refusing to give her anything more, refusing to get caught up in her game. This is the kind of useless word-play Roman loved to engage in, and if I didn’t play it with him, I certainly won’t indulge her.
She continues to study me, not the least bit daunted by my silence. If anything, it only encourages her. “Well, as for me, it’s turning out even better than planned. I’m sure you’ve already noticed how popular I am. In fact, I can’t decide whether to try out for cheerleader, run for class president, or both. What do you think?” She pauses, allowing plenty of time for me to weigh in, but when I don’t, she just shrugs and continues. “I mean, let’s face it, not to be all full of myself but there’s really no doubt I can do anything I want now. Surely you’ve noticed the way people look at me, the way they follow me around. It’s like—” Her eyes light up, her cheeks flush bright pink, and she wraps her arms around her middle, hugging herself in a burst of conceit. “It’s like I’m a rock star or something—they just can’t get enough of me!”
I sigh, loud enough for her to hear. Meeting her overconfident gaze with a look of complete and total boredom when I say, “Trust me, I’ve noticed.” Instantly wiping the triumphant smile from her face when I add, “Too bad it’s not real. I mean, you are aware of that, right? You’re making it happen. You’re deliberately luring them to you, robbing them of choice, of their own free will, just like Roman used to do. It’s not the real deal.”
She laughs, dismissing my words with a wave of her hand, walking in slow, deliberate circles, before she stops just before me and says, “Sounds like someone’s been snacking on the sour grapes.” She curls her lip and shakes her head. “Seriously. I mean, what’s your deal, Ever? Feeling a little jealous because I finally made it to table A while you’re still a big dork who’s permanently stuck in loserville?”
I roll my eyes, remembering my old life in Eugene, Oregon, back when I was a walking, talking, popular cliché. And even though I used to miss it, missed the seeming simplicity of it—the rules of conformity that seemed so easy to follow at the time—I wouldn’t go back to it for anything. It’s not even the slightest bit tempting these days.
“Hardly.” I gaze at her, my eyes narrowed. “Though I am surprised to see how much you’ve embraced it. I mean, considering how much you used to mock them and all. But I guess you only did that to hide the fact that you secretly wanted to be one of them. You pretended not to care when they snubbed you, when, apparently, you really did.” I shake my head, shooting her a look of pity, which, if the look in her eyes is any indication, has only enraged her even more. “But I doubt that’s why you summoned me here,” I add, eager to get back on point. “So why don’t you just go ahead and spill it? What is it that you’re just dying to tell me that can’t wait or can’t take place somewhere other than this gawd-awful bathroom?”
I gaze at her patiently, waiting for her to begin, while silently repeating the promises I made to myself:
I will not start the fight.
I will not take the first swing, throw the first punch, or anything of the sort.
I will exhaust all other possibilities before it even has a chance to come to that.
I will not end her life unless my life or another’s is threatened.
I will leave it to her to make the first move.
But when she does, well, from that point on, I’m no longer responsible for what happens to her…
She rolls her eyes and heaves an exasperated sigh, looking at me as though the view pains her when she says, “Oh, and now you’re worried about getting caught loitering in the bathroom on your first day of school?” She clucks her tongue against the inside of her cheek as she lifts her hand to admire the stack of silver and blue rings she wears on each finger. “Why you insist on trying to act so normal—so ridiculously ordinary—is beyond me. I mean, seriously, you truly are the sorriest excuse for an immortal I’ve ever seen. Roman was right—both you and Damen are a complete waste of space.” She exhales, forcing a gust of air from her lungs that sends a bitter chill through the room. “It’s like, what could you possibly expect to get out of that? A gold star—a nicely framed certificate stating that yes, you are indeed the ultimate teacher’s pet?”
She sticks out her tongue and crosses her eyes in a way that reminds me of the old Haven, the one who used to be my friend, but just as quickly it’s gone when she says, “And even more importantly, why would you even care? Because in case you haven’t noticed, the school rules are pretty much useless for people like us. We can do whatever the hell we want, whenever the hell we want, and no one can stop us. So not only do you need to lighten up and fugging unclench as usual—but you also need to put your sucking-up talents to much better use. Because if you’re determined to get on anyone’s good side, it should be mine.” She quirks her brow, and stares right into my eyes. “I mean, you’ve already ruined Damen—ever since he hooked up with you he’s like, destination boring town.” She takes a moment to grin at the remark. “Still, I am thinking of transferring into his fifth-period AP English class, and I’ll probably even sit next to him if I do. Does that bother you?”
I shrug, busying myself with my nails, even though they’re clean, smooth, unpolished, and so short there’s not much to see. But I won’t give in to her badgering, and I certainly won’t give her the satisfaction she seeks.
But it’s not like she cares, she’d much rather hear the sound of her own voice anyway, so she just forges ahead when she says, “I mean, on the one hand, he really has lost that exciting bad boy edge I loved so much—but on the other, I’m willing to bet he’s still got a good bit of it somewhere buried down deep. Really, really deep.” Her gaze gone sparkly and bright as it lands on me. “Because when something’s that ingrained, when something stretches all the way back through the centuries, well, it’s hard to shake it completely, if you know what I mean.”
Not only do I have no id
ea what she means, but no way of peeking into her mind to see for myself, since her shield is far too powerful for that. All I can do is just stand there and pretend not to care. Act as though her words aren’t causing the slightest bit of curiosity or interest, even though I’m ashamed to admit that they are.
She knows something. That much is clear. This isn’t just posturing on her part. She’s onto something about Damen—about his past—and she’s practically begging me to make her reveal it.
Which is exactly why I can’t.
“I mean, as you’ve probably already guessed, Roman told me some pretty sordid stuff. Some of which you probably already know so there’s no use going over it again, but then, just the other day, I was going through some of his belongings when I came across this whole stack of diaries.” She pauses, allowing plenty of time for her words to sink in. “I mean, you should’ve seen it—it was like—stacks and stacks of them—entire boxes full. Turns out, Roman documented everything. Kept hundreds, hell, maybe even thousands of journals—I totally lost count. But anyway, from what I can tell, they stretch all the way back through the centuries. He wasn’t just collecting antiques and artifacts—he was collecting history. His history. The immortals’ history. There are photos, painted portraits, cards, letters—the works. Unlike Damen, Roman kept in touch. He didn’t just move on with his life and leave the other orphans to fend for themselves, he looked after them. And after a hundred and fifty years passed and the elixir began to wear off, he made a new one—a better one. Then he tracked them all down and had them drink from it again. And he kept it up, through all those years, never once letting anyone down. Never once leaving anyone to flounder—or wither—or die, like Damen did. I mean, he may have had his issues with you guys, but then there’s no doubt that he had good reason—you were his only enemies. The only ones who saw him as this horrible, evil immortal who deserved what he got. To everyone else, he was a hero. He cared about them, offered them a better—eternal—life. Unlike the two of you, he believed in sharing the riches—and he did so freely—with those he deemed worthy.”
I narrow my gaze even further, nearing the end of my patience and needing her to know it. “So why didn’t he share it freely with you, then?” My gaze burns on hers. “Why the big game—why trick me into doing it?”
But Haven waves it away. “We’ve been over that, he was just having a little fun. I was never in any danger. He totally would’ve brought me back if he had to.” She rolls her eyes and shakes her head, clearly annoyed by the interruption. “Anyway,” she says, putting major emphasis on the word, “about the diaries and photos and stuff—let’s just say that some of it would be of great interest to you—” She pauses, obviously hoping I’ll take the opportunity to beg to hear more.
But it’s not gonna happen. Even though her words instantly remind me of something that both Roman and Jude alluded to when they hinted about some sordid secret in Damen’s past—even though I can’t help but think of yesterday in the pavilion when I stumbled upon the life Damen so desperately tried to keep hidden from me—I can’t ask for more. Can’t let her know that it’s working—that I care—that her words have crept right under my skin. Can’t let her win this one.
So, instead, I just lift my shoulders and sigh as though I’m bored beyond belief and couldn’t care less if she says another word.
Which causes her to frown and say, “Whatever. It’s not like you can fool me with all of your sighing and shoulder shrugging. I know you want to know, and I can’t say I blame you. Damen’s got secrets. Big, juicy, dark, and dirty secrets.” She turns toward the mirror, leaning toward it as she fluffs her hair and admires herself, entranced by the sight of her own reflection. “But—I’m perfectly fine with saving all that for another day. I mean, it’s not like I don’t get your point—the past is the past and all that. Until the day it comes back to bite you in the ass anyway. But, whatever. I mean, he’s just so tall, dark, and dreamy, who cares what atrocities he’s committed over the course of the last several hundred years, right?” She quirks a brow and looks at me, tilting her head to the side and allowing her glossy dark waves to spill down the front of her dress. Moving toward me, slowly, deliberately, twirling a lock of hair between her fingers, doing her best to put me on edge.
“The only thing you should be concerned about right now is your future. Since, as we both know, it may not be quite as long as you originally anticipated. I mean, surely you no longer believe I’ll let you hang around for infinity. Heck, you’ll be lucky if I let you make it to the end of the semester.” She stops just shy of me, her gaze taunting, gleaming, dangling the words before me like an apple before Eve—practically begging me to taste.
But I just swallow hard, making sure to keep my voice firm and steady when I say, “Damen and I have no secrets. And I know full well what Damen’s heart is like—and it’s good. So unless you have something more to say, I’m outta here—”
I make for the door, having every intention of leaving, of ending it before it can go any further, but before I can even reach it, she’s there.
Arms crossed, face grim, eyes like slits when she says, “You’re not going anywhere, Ever. I’m not even close to being done with you yet.”
seven
I stare into her eyes, her face, knowing I have only a handful of seconds to make the choice between pushing right past her, getting myself outside, and allowing us both some much needed time to cool off—or staying right here and trying to reason with her, or at the very least, allow her to think that she “won” this one.
My silence providing all the encouragement she needs to pick up right where she left off. “You honestly mean to tell me that you and Damen have no secrets?” Her tone a perfect match for the sneer on her face. “Seriously? None at all?” She throws her head back and laughs, exposing a milky white neck littered with jewels, and the faint and flashing trace of a colorful Ouroboros tattoo. Reminding me of the one Roman had, and Drina before him, only Haven’s is far smaller than theirs and easily hidden by her long mane of hair. Her confidence blown completely out of proportion, mistaking my stillness for apprehension and fear, when she says, “Please.” She flutters her lashes. “Don’t kid yourself, and don’t even try to kid me. Six hundred years is an awfully long time, Ever. So long it’s impossible for either of us to imagine. Though it is more than enough time to rack up a few dirty skeletons for the old metaphorical closet, right?”
She smiles, her eyes crazy, her energy so frenetic, so intense, so tightly wound, my only goal is to keep her in check. Keep her from starting something she’ll surely regret.
“None of that concerns me,” I say, careful to keep my voice low and steady. “Our past may shape us, but it doesn’t define us. So there’s really no point in lingering there any longer than necessary.”
Trying not to wince when she scrunches her brow and veers toward me, her face so close to mine I can feel the blast of her chilled breath on my cheek, can hear the chime of her swaying jeweled earrings, the long strands of stones chafing against each other.
“True.” Her eyes move over me. “But then again, some things never change. Some—appetites—just get bigger and bigger, if you know what I mean.”
I move back toward the sinks, leaning my hip against one as I glance at her and sigh. Wanting her to know just how boring I find this, but she’s not the least bit affected. She couldn’t care less. This is her stage, I am her audience, and this particular show is far from over yet.
“I mean, doesn’t it ever worry you?” She moves toward me, closing the distance between us in a handful of steps. “That you’ll never be able to truly satisfy him in the way that he, well, that any guy for that matter, really and truly needs?”
I start to look away—want to look away—but something won’t let me. She won’t let me. Somehow she’s locking my gaze.
“Doesn’t it ever worry you that he’ll get bored with all the abstinence and angst until he has no choice but to sneak off somewhere for a little…er
, relief, shall we say?”
I breathe, just look at her and breathe. Concentrating on the light residing within me, and doing my best not to panic at this sudden loss of control.
“Because if I were you, I’d be worried. Very worried. What you’re asking of him, well, it’s just…unnatural, now isn’t it?” She rubs her hands up and down her arms, shuddering as though it’s too awful, too unimaginable, as though it somehow affects her more than me. “Still, I wish you all the best on that, for as long as it lasts anyway.”
She releases me from her grip but continues to study me. Amused by the way I just involuntarily shook, the way I try not to let on just how much she’s disturbed me.
Her lip pulling up at the side as she looks me over and says, “What’s the matter, Ever? You look a little…upset.”
I concentrate on taking slow, deep breaths, once again weighing the choice between bolting and allowing her to carry this even further. Choosing to stay and hoping to put some sense back into her when I think: Seriously, this is it? You summoned me into the bathroom so you can express your concerns about Damen and my sex life? I sigh and shake my head as though I’m far too lazy to even summon the strength to say it out loud.
More like, lack-of-sex life. She laughs, meeting my gaze and rolling her eyes. “Trust me, Ever, as you well know, I’ve got much bigger things planned. And thanks to you, I have both the time and the power to see them through!” She cocks her head to the side and looks me over. “Remember what I said last time I saw you—the night you killed Roman?”
