And the only plausible answer I can seem to come up with is: Maybe I'm meant to go back. Maybe I'm meant to return. Not to halt assassinations, stop wars, and basically change the course of history—I just don't think I'm the right girl for that job.
Though I do think I've been shown this information for a reason—one that leads right back to what I've been thinking all along: That this whole scenario of the accident, my psychic powers, and Damen making me an immortal has all been a terrible mistake. And that if I can just pop back in time and stop the accident from ever happening—then I can put it all back to the way it was before. I can go back to Oregon and reenter my old life like my new life never even occurred. Which is what I've wished for all along. But where does that leave Damen? Does he go back too? And if so, will he still be with Drina until she managesto kill me, and everything happens all over again? Will I just be delaying the inevitable? Or does everything stay the same except me? Does he die at Roman's hands while I'm back in Oregon, completely unaware he exists? And if that's the case, then how can I let that happen? How can I turn my back on the one and only person I've ever truly loved?
I shake my head, noticing Romy and Rayne still looking at me, waiting for an answer, though I've no idea what to say. So, instead, I just stand there, my mouth hanging open like a ginormous dork. Thinking how even in Summerland, a place of absolute love and perfection, I'm still a total dweeb. Romy smiles, closing her eyes as her arms fill with red tulips—beautiful red tulips she promptly offers to me. But I refuse to take them. I just narrow my eyes and start backing away.
"What are you doing?" I glance between them, my voice tenuous, fragile, noticing how they look just as confused as I am.
"I'm sorry," Romy says, trying to ease my alarm. "I'm not sure why I did it. The thought just popped into my head, and so—"
I watch as the tulips dissolve from her fingers, going back to wherever they came from. But having them gone doesn't make the least bit of difference, and all I want now is for them to go too.
"Isn't anything private around here?" I shout, knowing I'm over-reacting but unable to stop. Because if those tulips were some kind of message, if she was listening in on my thoughts and trying to persuade me to give up the past and stay put, well, it's just none of her business. They may know all about Summerland, but they know nothing about me, and they've no right to butt in. They've never had to make a decision like this. They've no idea how it feels to lose every single person you've ever loved.
I take another step back, seeing Rayne furrow her brow as Romy shakes her head, saying, "We didn't hear a thing. Honest. We can't read all of your thoughts, Ever. Only the ones we're permitted to see. Whatever you see in the akashic records is yours and yours to keep. We are merely concerned by your distress. That is all. Nothing more, nothing less."
I narrow my eyes, not trusting her for a second. They've probably been snooping in my thoughts all along. I mean, why else give me the tulips? Why else manifest such a thing? "I wasn't even visiting the akashic records," I say. "This room was—" I pause, swallowing hard as I remember the smell of my mom's brownies, the feel of my grandma's blanket, and knowing I can have it all again. All I have to do is wait for the right day and time and I can return to my family and friends. I shake my head and shrug. "This room was different."
"The Akashic Hall has many faces." Romy nods. "It becomes whatever you need it to be." She looks at me, her eyes roaming over my face as she says, "We only showed up to help, not to upset or confuse you."
"So, what? You're like my guardian angels or spirit guides? Two private-school-uniform-wearing fairy godmothers?"
"Not quite." Romy laughs.
"Then who are you? And what're you doing here? And how come you always manage to find me?"
Rayne glares and pulls on her sister's sleeve, urging her to leave. But Romy stays put, looking me in the eye when she says, "We are only here to aid and assist. That is all you need to know."
I look at her for a moment, glance at her sister, then shake my head and walk away. They're deliberately mysterious and way beyond weird, and I've a pretty good hunch their intentions aren't good. Even as Romy calls out from behind me, I keep going. Eager to put some distance between us as I head for an auburn-haired woman waiting just outside the theater, the one who, from behind anyway, looks exactly like Ava.
Chapter Thirty-One
The huge disappointment I felt when I tapped that auburn-haired woman on the shoulder only to discover she wasn't Ava, made me realize just how badly I need to talk to her. So I exit Summerland and land back in my car, plopping onto the driver's seat right in front of the Trader Joe's in the Crystal Cove Promenade parking lot, and startling an unsuspecting shopper so badly she drops both her bags, scattering numerous cans of coffee and soup under a whole row of cars. And I promise myself that from now on, I'll make sure my exits and entries are a bit more discreet. When I get to Ava's, she's in the middle of a reading, so I wait in her bright sunny kitchen while she finishes up. And even though I know it's none of my business, even though I know I shouldn't be snooping, I go right for my quantum remote and access their session, amazed by the amount of accuracy and detail Ava provides.
"Impressive," I say, after her client is gone and shecomes into the kitchen to join me. "Very impressive. Seriously, I had no idea." I smile, watching as she goes through her usual ritual of filling the teapot to boil, then placing some cookies onto a plate and pushing itmy way.
"That's quite a compliment coming from you." She smiles, taking the seat just across from me. "Though if I remember right, I gave you a pretty accurate reading once too."
I reach for a cookie, knowing it's expected. And when I lick the little bits of sugar from the top, I can't help but feel sad that it no longer holds the allure that it used to. "You remember that reading? On Halloween night?"
She watches me closely.
I nod. I remember it well. That's the night I discovered she could see Riley. Up until then I'd been sure I was the only one who could communicate with my dead little sister, and I wasn't too happy to learn that was no longer the case.
"Did you tell your client she's dating a loser?" I break the cookie in half. "That he's cheating on her with someone she thinks is a friend and that she should dump them both ASAP?" I ask, removing some crumbs that fell onto my lap.
"In so many words," she says, getting up to fetch our tea the moment the pot starts to whistle. "Though I can only hope you'll learn to soften the message if you ever decide to give readings." I pause, overcome by a sudden pang of sadness whenI realize just how long it's been since I last thought about my future, about what I might want to be when I grow up. I went through so many phases—wanting to be a park ranger, a teacher, an astronaut, a supermodel, a pop star—the list was endless. But now that I'm immortal, now that I'm in a position to try out all of those things over the course of the next thousand-plus years—I no longer feel that ambitious.
Lately, all I've been thinking about is how to get Damen back. And now, after this last trip to Summerland, all I can think about is getting the old me back. I mean, having the entire world at my feet is not so enticing when there's no one to share it with. "I—I'm still not sure what I want to do. I haven't really thought about it," I lie, wondering if it will be easy for me to slip back into my old life—if I decide to return to it, that is. And if I'll still want to be a pop star like I used to, or if the changes I've experienced here will follow me there.
But when I look at Ava, watching as she lifts her cup to her lips and blows twice before sipping, I remember that I didn't come here to discuss my future. I came to discuss my past. Deciding to bring her into my confidence and share some of my biggest secrets. Convinced not only that I can trust her but that she'll be able to help me as well. Because the truth is, I need someone I can count on. There's just no way I can go it alone. And it's not about helping me decide whether I should stay or go, because I'm beginning to realize I really don't have much of a choice. I mean, the thoug
ht of leaving Damen—the thought of never seeing him again—is almost more painful than I can bear. But when I think about my family, and how they unwittingly sacrificed their lives for me—either because of a stupid blue sweatshirt I insisted my dad return for, which ultimately caused the accident that killed everyone—or because Drina intentionally made the deer run in front of our car so she could be rid of me and have Damen to herself—I feel I have to do something to make it all right. Because either way you look at it, it leads back to me. It's my fault they're no longer living their lives, it's my fault their bright shiny futures were cut so tragically short. If I hadn't gotten in the way, none of this ever would've happened. And even though Riley insisted it all turned out the way it was meant to, the fact that I'm being given the choice just proves that I need to sacrifice my future with Damen so they can have theirs.
It's the right thing to do. It's the only thing to do.
And with the way things are going, with my social exile from school, Ava's pretty much my only friend left. Which means I'll need her to pick up any stray pieces I might leave behind. I bring my teacup to my lips, then set it back down without drinking. Tracing my fingers around the curve of the handle as I take a deep breath and say, "I think someone's poisoning Damen." Seeing her eyes bug out as she gapes. "I—I think someone's tampering with his—" Elixir "—favorite drink. And it's making him act—" Mortal "—normal, but not in a good way." I press my lips together and rise from my seat, barely giving her a chance to catch her breath when I say, "And since I'm banned from the gate, I'm gonna need you to help me break in."
Chapter Thirty-Two
"Okay, we're here. Just act cool," I say, crouching down in the back as Ava approaches the gate. "Just nod and smile and give her the name I told you." I pull my legs in, trying to make myself smaller, less obtrusive, a task that would've been a heck of a lot easier just two weeks ago, before I was faced with this ridiculous growth spurt. Crouching down even farther and pulling the blanket tighter around me as Ava lowers her window and smiles at Sheila, giving her the name of Stacia Miller (my replacement on Damen's list of welcomed guests), who I hope hasn't come around quite enough yet for Sheila to recognize her.
And the moment the gate swings open and we're headed for Damen's, I toss the blanket aside and climb onto the seat, seeing Ava gaze around the neighborhood with obvious envy, shaking her head and muttering, "Swanky."
I shrug and glance around too, never having given it much notice before. Always viewing this place as a blur of phony Tuscan farm houses and upscale Spanish haciendas with well-landscaped yards and subterranean garages one has to pass in order to reach Damen's faux French chateau.
"I have no idea how he affords it, but it sure is nice," she says, glancing at me.
"He plays the ponies," I mumble, concentrating onthe garage door as she pulls into his drive, taking note of its most minute details before closing my eyes and willing for it to open. Seeing it rise and lift in my mind, then opening my eyes just in time to watch it sputter and spurt before dropping back down with a very loud thud. An unmistakable sign that I'm still a long way from mastering psychokinesis—or the art of moving anything heavier than a Prada bag. "Um, I think we should just go around back like I usually do," I say, feeling embarrassed for failing so miserably.
But Ava won't hear of it, grabbing my bag and heading for the front door. And even when I scramble behind, telling her it's no use, that it's locked and we can't possibly enter that way, she just keeps going, claiming we'll just have to unlock it then.
"It's not as easy as you think," I tell her. "Believe me, I've tried it before and it didn't work." Glancing at the extra door I accidentally manifested the last time I was here—the one that's still leaning against the far wall, which is exactly where I left it since apparently Damen's too busy acting cool and chasing Stacia to take the time to get rid of it. But the moment I think that, I wish I could erase it. The thought leaves me sad, empty, and feeling far more desperate than I care to admit.
"Well, this time you have me to help." She smiles. "And I think we've already proved just how well we work together." And the way she looks at me, with such anticipation, such optimism, I can't see the point in refusing to try. So I close my eyes as we both join hands, envisioning the door springing open before us. And just seconds after hearing the dead bolt slide back, the door opens wide, allowing us in. "After you." Ava nods, glancing at her watch and scrunching her brow as she says, "Tell me again, exactly how much time do we have here?"
I gaze at my wrist, seeing the crystal horseshoe bracelet Damen gave me that day at the track, the one that makes my heart swell with longing every time I see it. Yet I refuse to remove it. I mean, I just can't. It's my only physical reminder of what we once had.
"Hey? You okay?" she asks, her face creased with concern.
I swallow hard and nod. "We should be okay on time. Though I should warn you, Damen has a bad habit of cutting class and coming home early."
"Then we best get started" Ava smiles, slipping into the foyer and looking all around, her eyes moving from the huge chandelier in the entry to the elaborate wrought-iron banister that leads up the stairs. Turning to me with a gleam in her eye when she says, "This guy is seventeen?" I move toward the kitchen, not bothering to answer since she already knows that he is. Besides, I've got much bigger things at stake than square footage and the seeming implausibility of a seventeen-year old who's neither a pop star nor a member of a hit TV show owning such a place. "Hey—hold up," she says, reaching for my arm and stopping me in my tracks. "What's upstairs?"
"Nothing." And the second it's out I know I totally blew it, answering far too quickly to ever be believed. Still, the last thing I need is for Ava to go snooping around and barging into his "special" room.
"Come on," she says, smiling like a rebellious teen whose parents are gone for the weekend. "School gets out at what? Two fifty?"
I nod, just barely, but it's still enough to encourage her.
"And then it takes, what? Ten minutes to drive home from there?"
"More like two." I shake my head. "No, scratch that. More like thirty seconds. You have no idea how fast Damen drives."
She checks her watch again, then looks at me. A smile playing at the corner of her lips when she says, "Well, that still leaves us plenty of time to take a quick look around, switch out the drinks, and be on our way."
And when I look at her, all I can hear is the voice in my head shouting: Say no! Say no! Just. Say. No! A voice I should heed. A voice that's immediately canceled by hers when she says, "Come on, Ever. It's not every day I get to tour a house like this. Besides, we might find something useful, did you ever consider that?"
I press my lips together and nod like it pains me. Reluctantly following behind as she races ahead like an excited school girl about to see her crush's cool room, when the fact is she's got over a decade on me. Heading straight for the first open door she sees, which just happens to be his bedroom. And as I follow her inside I'm not sure if I'm more surprised or relieved to find it just like I left it. Only messier. Way messier. And I refuse to even think about how that might've happened. Still, the sheets, the furniture, even the paint on the walls—none of it—I'm happy to report—have been changed. It's all the same stuff I helped him pick out a few weeks ago when I refused to spend another minute hanging out in that creepy mausoleum of his, where, believe it or not, he used to sleep. I mean, making out among all those dusty old memories really started to skeeve me out.
Never mind the fact that, technically speaking, I'm one of those dusty old memories too. But even after all the new furniture was put into place, I still preferred to hang out at my house. I guess it just felt—I don't know—safer? Like the threat of Sabine coming home any minute would keep me from doing something I wasn't sure I was ready to do. Which now, after all that's happened, seems more than a little ridiculous.
"Wow, check out this master bath," Ava says, eyeing the Roman shower with the mosaic design and enough
shower heads to bathe twenty. "I could get used to living like this!" She perches on the edge of the Jacuzzi tub and plays with the taps. "I've always wanted one of these! Have you used this?"
I look away, but not before she catches a glimpse of the color that Hushes my cheeks. I mean, just because I spilled a few secrets and allowed her to come up here doesn't mean she gets an all-access pass to my private life too, "I have one at home," I finally say, hoping that'll suffice so we can end this tour and be on our way. I need to get back downstairs so I can switch Damen's elixir with mine. And if she stays up here alone, I'm afraid she'll never leave. I tap my watch, reminding her of just who's in charge around here.
"All right," she says, practically dragging her feet as I lead her out of the bedroom and into the hall. Only to stop just a few doors down and say, "But real quick, what's in here?" And before I can stop her, she's entered the room—Damen's sacred space. His private sanctuary. His creepy mausoleum. Only it's changed. And I mean, drastically and dramatically changed. Every last trace of Damen's personal time warp completely vanished—with not a Picasso, Van Gogh, or velvet settee in sight.
All of it replaced by a red felt pool table, a well-stocked black marble bar with shiny chrome stools, and a long row of recliners facing a wall covered with a ginormous flat screen TV. And I can't help but wonder what became of his old stuff—those priceless artifacts that used to get on my nerves, but now that they've been replaced with such slick modern designs, seem like lost symbols of much better times. I miss the old Damen. I miss my bright, handsome, chivalrous boyfriend who clung so tightly to his Renaissance past.