Blue Moon

  "Ever?"

  I open my eyes. Riley's standing before me, her bottom lip trembling, her blue eyes on mine.

  "Is he gone?" She glances around the room.

  I nod.

  "Will you come sit with me, while I try to fall asleep?" she asks, biting down on her lip, giving me that sad puppy dog look that's impossible to resist.

  "I told you that show was too scary for you," I say, my hand on her shoulder as we head down the hall, getting her all tucked and settled before arranging myself right around her. Wishing her the sweetest of dreams and smoothing her hair off her face as I whisper, "Don't worry. Go to sleep. There's no such thing as ghosts."

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  "Ever, you ready? We need to leave soon! We don't want to hit traffic!"

  "Coming!" I shout, even though I'm not. I just continue to stand there, right smack in the middle of my room staring at a crumpled piece of paper I'd found in the front pocket of my jeans. And even though it's written in my hand, I've no idea how it got there, much less what it means. Reading:

  1. Don't go back for the sweatshirt!

  2. Don't trust Drina!

  3. Don't go back for the sweatshirt no matter what!

  4. Damen

  And by the fifth time I read it, I'm still just as confused as the first. I mean, what sweatshirt? And why am I not supposed to go back for it? Not to mention, do I even know a Drina? And who the heck is Damen, and why is there a heart by his name? I mean, why did I ever write such a thing? When did I ever write such a thing? And what could it possibly mean? And when my dad calls again, followed by the sound of his footsteps storming up the stairs, I toss the paper aside, watching it land on my dresser before falling to the floor, figuring I'll sort it all out when we return.

  As it turns out, the weekend was good for me. Good to get away from my school, good to get away from my friends (and boyfriend). Good to spend time with my family in a way that we don't get to do all that often. In fact, I feel so much better now, that as soon as we get back to civilization, back to where my cell can access a signal—I'm going to text Brandon. I don't want to leave things the way we had. And I really believe that whatever weird thing I was going through is now past.

  I grab my backpack and toss it over my shoulder, ready to leave. But as I glance around our campsite one last time, I can't shake the feeling that I've left something behind. Even though my bag is packed and everything appears to be clear, I continue to stand there, my mom calling my name over and over, until she finally gives up and sends Riley.

  "Hey," she says, pulling hard on my sleeve. "C'mon, everyone's waiting."

  "In a minute," I mumble. "I just have to—"

  "Have to what?" She smirks. "You have to stare at the smoldering embers for another hour or two? Seriously, Ever, what's your deal?"

  I shrug, toying with the clasp on my bracelet, having no idea what my deal is, but unable to shake the feeling that something is wrong. Well, maybe not wrong exactly, more like missing or undone. Like there's something I'm supposed to be doing that I'm not. And I just can't decide what it is.

  "Seriously. Mom wants you to hurry, Dad's worried about hitting traffic, even Buttercup wants you to get it together so he can stick his head out the window and let his ears flap in the breeze. Oh, and I'd kind of like to get home before all the good shows are over. So, what do you say we move it, okay?" But when I don't move it, when I don't do much of anything, she sighs and says, "You forget something? Is that it?" Eyeballing me carefully before glancing over her shoulder toward our parents.

  "Maybe." I shake my head. "I'm not sure."

  "You got your backpack?"

  I nod.

  "You got your cell phone?"

  I tap my backpack.

  "You got your brain?"

  I laugh, knowing I'm acting strange and ridiculous and freaky as hell, but then after the last few days you'd think I'd be used to it by now.

  "You got your sky-blue Pinecone Lake Cheerleading Camp sweatshirt?" She smiles.

  "That's it!" I say, my heart beating frantically. "I left it by the lake! Tell Mom and Dad I'll be right back!"

  But just as I turn, Riley grabs hold of my sleeve and pulls me right back. "Chillax." She smiles. "Dad found it and tossed it in the backseat. Seriously. So can we go now?"

  I glance around the campsite one last time, then follow Riley to the car. Settling into the back as my dad pulls onto the road and a muffled chime comes from my phone. And I've barely dug it out of my bag, barely even had a chance to read it, before Riley's peering over my shoulder, trying to peek. Forcing me to turn so abruptly, Buttercup shifts, shooting me a look that lets me know she's not happy. But even after all that, Riley still tries to see. So I roll my eyes and do what I always do, I whine, "Mom!"

  Watching as she flips a page in her magazine without missing a beat, automatically saying, "Stop it you two."

  "You didn't even look!" I say. "I wasn't doing anything! Riley won't leave me alone."

  "That's because she loves you," my dad says, meeting my eyes in the rearview mirror. "She loves you so much she wants to be around you all of the time—she just can't get enough of you!"

  Words that send Riley clear to the other side of the car, pressing her body against the door as she shouts, "Gag!" Then swinging her legs to her side as far as she can, upsetting poor Buttercup all over again. Shivering dramatically, as though the thought is just way too disgusting to bear, as my dad catches my eye and both of us laugh.

  I flip my phone open, reading the message from Brandon that says: Sorry. My bad. Call me 2nite. And I immediately respond with a smiley face, hoping that'll tide us over until I can work up enough emotion to send something more. And I've just leaned my head against the window and am about to close my eyes when Riley turns to me and says, "You can't go back, Ever. You can't change the past. It just is." I squint, having no idea what she's talking about. But just as I start to ask, she shakes her head and says, "This is our destiny. Not yours. Did you ever stop and think that maybe you were supposed to survive? That maybe, it wasn't just Damen who saved you?"

  I stare at her, my mouth hanging open, trying to make sense of her words. And when I glance around the car, wondering if my parents heard too, I see that everything is frozen. My dad's hands are stuck on the steering wheel, his unblinking eyes staring straight ahead, while the page of my mom's magazine is stuck in midflip, and Buttercup's tail is caught at half-mast. Even when I gaze out the window, I notice how all the birds are caught in midflight, while the other motorists are paused all around us. And when I look at Riley again, her intense gaze on mine as she leans toward me, it's clear we're the only ones moving.

  "You have to go back," she says, her voice confident, firm. "You have to find Damen—before it's too late."

  "Too late for what?" I cry, leaning toward her, desperate to understand. "And who the heck is Damen? Why are you saying that name? What does it even mean—"

  But before I can finish, she's already rolling her eyes and pushing me away as though none of it happened.

  "Jeez, stalk much?" She shakes her head. "I mean, seriously, Ever. Boundaries! Because regardless of what he thinks," she points toward our dad, "I have absolutely no interest in you. " She rolls her eyes and turns away, singing along to her iPod, her voice raspy, warbled, croaking out a Kelly Clarkson song in a way it was never intended. Oblivious to my mom who smiles and chucks her lightly on the knee, oblivious to my dad, gazing at me through the rearview mirror, our smiles meeting at the exact same moment, sharing a joke meant only for us. Still holding that smile as a huge logging truck pulls out in front of us, slamming into the side of our car, and making the whole world go black.

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  The next thing I know I'm sitting on my bed, mouth wide open in a silent scream that never had a chance to be heard. Having lost my family for the second time in a year, left with only the echo of Riley's words: You have to find Damen—before it's too late! I spring from my bed and bolt
for my den, going straight for the mini fridge and finding the elixir and antidote gone. Unsure if it means I'm the only one who went back in time while everyone else stayed the same, or if I'm picking up right where I left off—with Damen in danger and me running away. I sprint down the stairs, moving so fast they're like a blur under my feet, having no idea what day it is, or even what time, but knowing I've got to make it to Ava's before it's too late. But just when I hit the landing, Sabine calls out, "Ever? Is that you?" And I freeze, watching as she comes around the corner, wearing a stained apron with a full plate of brownies in hand.

  "Oh, good." She smiles. "I just tried your mom's recipe—you know the ones she always used to bake? And I want you to try one and tell me what you think."

  I freeze, unable to do anything but blink. Forcing a patience I don't really have when I say, "I'm sure they're fine. Listen, Sabine, I—"

  But she doesn't let me finish. She just cocks her head to the side and says, "Well, aren't you at least going to try one?"

  And I know this is not just about seeing me eat, it's also about wanting approval—my approval. She's been questioning whether or not she's fit to look after me, wondering if she's in some way responsible for my behavioral problems, thinking that if she'd only handled things better, none of this would've happened. I mean, my brilliant, successful, high-performing aunt, who's never lost a single court case—wants approval from me.

  "Just one," she insists. "It's not like I'm trying to poison you!" And when her eyes meet mine, I can't help but notice her seemingly random choice of words, wondering if it's some sort of message, pushing me to hurry, but knowing I have to get through this first. "I know they're probably not nearly as good as your mom's, because hers were the undisputed best, but it is her recipe—and for some reason I woke up early this morning with this overwhelming urge to make them. And so I thought—" Knowing she's capable of going into a full-on opening argument in her pursuit to convince me, I reach toward the stack of brownies. Going for the smallest square, figuring I'll just eat it and run. But when I see the unmistakable letter E carved right in its center—I know. It's my sign. The one I've been waiting for all along. Just when I'd given up hope, Riley pulled through.

  Marking the smallest brownie on the plate with my initial in the exact same way that she used to do. And when I look for the largest one and see an R carved onto it, I definitely know it's from her. The secret message, the sign she promised, right before she left me for good. But still, not wanting to be some crazy delusional person who finds secret meaning in a plate of baked goods, I glance at Sabine and say, "Did you—" I point at my brownie, the one with my initial carved into its middle. "Did you put that there?"

  She squints, first at me, and then at the brownie, then she shakes her head and says, "Listen, Ever, if you don't want to try it, then you certainly don't have to, I just thought—" But before she can finish, I've already plucked it off the plate and plopped it into my mouth, closing my eyes as I savor its chewy sweetness, immediately immersed in the feeling of home. That wonderful place I was lucky enough to revisit, no matter how short a time—finally realizing it's not relegated to just one single place, it's wherever you make it. Sabine looks at me, her face anxious, awaiting my approval. "I tried them once before, but for some reason they didn't turn out nearly as good as your mom's." She shrugs, gazing at me shyly, eagerly awaiting my verdict. "She used to joke that she used a secret ingredient, but now I wonder if that might've been true."

  I swallow hard, wiping the crumbs from my lips, and smiling when I say, "There was a secret ingredient."

  Seeing her expression fall, wondering if that means they're no good. "The secret ingredient was love," Itell her. "And you must've used plenty, because these are awesome."

  "Really?" Her eyes light up.

  "Really." I hug her to me, but only for a moment before I'm pulling away. "Today's Friday, right?"

  She looks at me, her brows merged. "Yes, it's Friday. Why? Are you okay?"

  But I just nod and flee out the door, knowing I've even less time than I thought.

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  I pull into Ava's drive, and park my car sloppily—back wheels on the cement, front wheels on the grass, moving toward the door so quickly I barely acknowledge the stairs. But just as I reach it, I take a step back—something feels weird, off, strange in a way I can't quite explain. Like it's too quiet, too still. Even though the house appears just as I left it—planters on either side of the door, welcome mat in place—it's static in a way that seems eerie. And as I raise my knuckles to knock, I've just barely tapped it when it opens before me. I head through the living room and into the kitchen, calling out for Ava and noticing how everything is just as I left it—teacup on the counter, cookies on a plate, everything in its usual place. But when I peek in the cupboard and see that the antidote and elixir are missing, I'm not sure what to think. Not knowing if it means that my plan worked and it wasn't needed after all, or if the opposite is true, and that something's gone wrong.

  I race toward the indigo door at the end of the hall, eager to see if Damen's still there, but I'm blocked by Roman who stands right before it. His face widening into a grin as he says, "So nice to have you back, Ever. Though I told Ava you would be. You know what they say—you can't go home again!" I take in his deliberately tousled hair that perfectly frames the Ouroboros tattoo on his neck—knowing that despite my advances, despite my waking the school, he's still the one in charge around here.

  "Where's Damen?" My eyes rake over his face, my gut twisting tight. "And what've you done with Ava?"

  "Now, now." He smiles. "Don't you worry 'bout a thing. Damen's right where you left him. Though I must say I can't believe that you left him. I underestimated you. I had no idea. Though I can't help but wonder how Damen would feel if he knew. I bet he underestimated you too."

  I swallow hard, remembering Damen's last words: You left me. Knowing he didn't underestimate me at all, he knew exactly which path I'd choose.

  "And as for Ava." Roman smiles. "You'll be happy to know that I've done nothing with her. You should know by now that I only have eyes for you, " he murmurs, moving so fast I've barely had a chance to blink when his face is mere inches from mine. "Ava left on her own accord. Allowing us our privacy. And now that it's just a matter of—" He pauses to glance at his watch. "Well—seconds really, until you and I can make it official. You know, minus all the nasty guilt you would've felt had we hooked up sooner—before he'd had a chance to pass. Not that I would've felt guilty, but you strike me as the sort who likes to think of yourself as good and pure and well intentioned and all that rubbish, which, truth be told, really is a bit too maudlin for my tastes. But I'm sure we'll find a way to work through all that."

  I tune out his words as I plan my next move. Trying to determine his weakness, his kryptonite, his most vulnerable chakra. Since he's blocking the very door I need to get through, the door that leads to Damen, I've no choice but to go through him. Though I need to be careful with how I proceed. Because when I do make a move, it needs to be swift, unexpected, right on target. Otherwise, I'm in for a battle I may never win.

  He lifts his hand to my face and caresses my cheek, and I slap it so hard the crunch of his bones pierces the air as his crumpled fingers wobble and dangle before me.

  "Ouch." He smiles, shaking his hand as he flexes his instantly healed digits. "You're a feisty one, aren't you? But you know how that only turns me on, right?" I roll my eyes, feeling his cold breath on my cheek as he says, "Why do you continue to fight me, Ever? Why do you push me away when I'm all you have left?"

  "Why are you doing this?" I ask, my stomach twitching as his eyes darken and narrow, displaying a complete absence of color and light. "What did Damen ever do to you?"

  He tilts his head back, peering at me when he says, "It's real simple, darlin'." His voice suddenly changing, dropping the British accent and adopting atone I've never heard from him before. "He killed Drina. So I'm killing him. And then ever
ything's even. Case closed."

  And the second he says it, I know. I know exactly how I'll take him down and get behind that door. Because along with the who and the how, I've now got the why. The elusive motive I've needed all this time. And now the only thing standing between Damen and me is one solid punch to Roman's navel chakra, or sacral center as it's sometimes called—the center of jealousy, envy, and the irrational desire to possess. One solid blow and Roman is history. But still, before I take him down, I've one more thing to do. So I look at him, my gaze fixed and unwavering when I say, "But Damen didn't kill Drina. I did."

  "Nice try." He laughs. "Pathetic, a bit maudlin like I said, but I'm afraid it won't work. You can't save Damen that way."

  "But why not? If you're so interested in justice, an eye for an eye and all that—then you should know that I'm the one who did it." I nod, my voice taking on new urgency and strength. "I'm the one who killed that, bitch." Watching as he sways, ever so slightly, but still enough for me to notice. "She was always hanging around, completely obsessed with Damen. You must've known that, right? That she was totally fixated on him?"

  He winces. Neither confirming nor denying, but that wince is all I need to keep going, knowing I've hit the sore spot.

  "She wanted me out of the way so she could have Damen to herself, and after months of my trying to ignore her and hoping she'd go away, she was dumb enough to show up at my house and try to confront me. And—well—when she refused to back down and went after me instead—I killed her." I shrug, relaying the story with a lot more calm than I felt at the time, making sure to leave out my own ineptitude, cluelessness, and fears. "And it was so easy. " I smile, shaking my head as though reliving the moment all over again. "Seriously. You should've seen her. It's like, one moment she was standing before me all flaming red hair and white skin—and the next—gone! And by the way, Damen didn't show up until the deed was already done. So, as you see, if anyone's guilty, it's me and not him."