“You’ve become increasingly comfortable with the breaking and entering,” Damen says, his lips at my ear as he follows me inside. “Should I be concerned?”
I laugh, a startling burst of sound that echoes in this vast, high-ceilinged space. Motioning for Damen to close the door behind us as I place my hands on my hips and take a good look around—taking a moment to close my eyes and employ all my senses, trying to get a read on the place, tune in to where a stained white shirt might be hidden, as Damen stands beside me and does the same.
But not getting much of anything, we decide to start right where we stand. Peeking inside antique armoires, wobbly old chests of drawers, sorting through everything quickly, methodically, but not finding the one thing we need. Damen heads for the back, the space Roman once used as an office and, once inside, calls for me to join him.
It’s a mess. An absolute mess. Like a tornado blew through it. Like the fault lines recently slipped. Reminding me of the way Jude’s store looked the day Haven left us for dead—and I take it as a sure sign that she’s responsible for this.
We pick our way through massive piles of papers all strewn across the floor. Damen stepping lightly, gingerly, while I’m not quite so graceful and accidentally go skidding and surfing a few times only to have him catch me and keep me from falling.
I dodge an overturned chair, scoot around a set of truly hideous, green paisley cushions pulled from the small love seat that’s shoved in the corner, pausing long enough for Damen to remove an emptied file cabinet from my path, before we make for a desk that’s almost as littered as the floor, covered in a mess of papers, and cups, and books, and debris so thick you can barely make out the fine inlaid wood underneath. The two of us pilfering through every last drawer, every last nook, until we’re sure it’s not here—convinced it’s not hidden anywhere.
Damen stands beside me, wearing an expression that’s closer to resolve than disappointment, since he never allowed himself to believe we might find it so easily. And even though he makes to leave, I’m not quite ready to join him. I can’t seem to keep from staring at the small wine fridge in the corner—its plug pulled, its door not just left open but hanging haphazardly off its hinges.
A small, innocuous fridge with nothing special about it, except for the fact that I’m sure it was once filled with elixir, though I’ve no idea who might’ve emptied it.
Was it Misa and Marco, who were last seen hopping a fence with two duffle bags filled with stolen juice?
Was it Rafe, who, well, I haven’t seen in so long I have no idea if he’s even still around?
Or was it Haven, who, from what I’ve seen anyway, seems to have developed a serious elixir addiction problem?
And, even more importantly, does it really matter anyway, considering my only real concern here is obtaining the shirt?
Damen nudges me, ready to move on. And since there’s no reason to stay, nothing to be gained here, I take one last look around, making sure I haven’t missed anything, then follow him out the door, the two of us slipping out just as quickly and covertly as we came.
No closer to obtaining what we need, though more assured than ever that we’re definitely getting closer, definitely making progress of some sort.
Haven’s world isn’t just showing signs of wear—it’s also starting to crumble all around her. And now it’s just a matter of time until she either reaches out for help or completely self-destructs.
Either way, I intend to be there.
thirty-four
Since the store ended up being such a complete and total bust, I drop Damen at his house so that he can help Miles rehearse, then decide to head home so I can regroup and hopefully come up with a new plan of attack. Feeling more determined than ever to locate that shirt, especially now that Damen and I are so solidly back on track.
I pull into the garage, heaving an immediate sigh of relief when I see that it’s empty. Sabine’s vacant space signaling that she’s either still at work or out with Munoz, and knowing that either way it allows me the promise of an empty house, some much needed time on my own, and a few hours of calm and peaceful, non-arguing silence, which is exactly what I need before I head out again.
And I’ve just walked through the side door and am about to make my way up the stairs to my room when it hits me:
A cold blast of energy.
The effect so stinging and frigid it could mean only one thing:
I’m not nearly as alone as I’d thought.
I spin on my heel, not the least bit surprised to find Haven standing behind me. Her body fidgety, twitchy, her formerly beautiful face reduced to a shockingly pale arrangement of sunken cheekbones, a sharply angled nose, grim shrunken lips, and eyes so narrowed and hollowed and red, it’s like gazing upon a crime scene photo.
Her lips twisting in a way so gruesome, it instantly transforms her into a vision even more lurid than she was just a moment ago. Scowling at me when she says, “Where is it, Ever?”
And suddenly I know exactly who dismantled the fridge in the store.
Know exactly what she’s here for.
Misa and Marco broke into her house to steal her elixir—it all makes sense now.
Roman never passed on the recipe, and without him, the rogues’ supply is cut off. And now it’s only a matter of time before their powers dwindle, and ultimately their youth and beauty are lost.
I’m Haven’s only hope of retaining her new powers.
Her new life.
Still, it’s not like I’m about to make it easy on her. Not when this could turn out to be just the solution I need.
She wants something I have—and I want something she has. So, under the circumstances, that leaves me pretty well positioned to broker some kind of deal.
I’ll just have to tread carefully, cautiously. I can’t afford to alert her to the true significance of the shirt, just in case she hasn’t realized it yet.
Lifting my shoulders casually, I say, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Then I smile, stalling for time, trying to get a better read on her as I formulate a plan in my mind.
But she’s not about to play along, she’s in much too big a hurry for that. She’s fading fast, barely holding on, and she doesn’t have time for this particular game.
“Quit fugging around and just give it to me!” She rolls her eyes and huffs under her breath, shaking her head in a way that throws her completely off-balance, forcing her to grab hold of the stair rail in order to steady herself.
I narrow my gaze, taking a moment to really study her, noting the way she appears so edgy, so jumpy, so out of whack and unsteady, she can barely stand still, can barely hold herself up without some kind of support. Focusing on her solar plexus, seeing it like a bull’s-eye smack dab in the center of her torso, fully prepared to take her out if I have to, though still hoping it won’t really come to that. Then I try to tune in to her energy, tune in to her head, try to get some kind of read on just where she’s at, and just how far she’s willing to go to get what she wants—but getting nothing for my efforts.
She’s not just shut off from me—she’s shut off from everything around her as well.
Belonging to no one and nothing.
Barely belonging to herself.
She’s like a walking talking Shadowland.
Dark.
Alone.
Totally caught up in a past she’s hell bent on avenging, even though the truth of it is nothing at all like the version she’s chosen to convince herself of.
“The elixir, Ever! Give me the fugging elixir already!” Her voice is shaky, high-pitched, raspier than ever, revealing just how much her desperation has come to define her. “I’ve already checked all the fridges—the one in the kitchen, the one outside by the barbecue, the spare one in the laundry room, and I was just about to head up to the den off your room, when, well, you came home and beat me to it. So, I figure as long as you’re here, I may as well ask nicely—seeing as what good friends we used to be and all.
So, come on, Ever, for old time’s sake, for old friend’s sake, hand over the fugging elixir you stole!”
“That’s you asking nicely?” I lift my brow, noticing the way she eyeballs the space between the banister and me, as though plotting to sneak through it, prompting me to quickly grab hold of it, blocking all access.
She mumbles under her breath, gripping the stair rail so tightly her knuckles blanch to an impossible shade of white, looking at me with eyes so red they’re practically bleeding from the effort, leaving no doubt that she’s this close to snapping when she repeats, “Just give it to me already!”
I take a deep breath, and concentrate on surrounding her with a stream of calming energy. Hoping it will help to pacify her, cool her, ease some of the anger, temper and tone down the rage. The last thing I need is for her to go off, to explode in some sort of meltdown. Even though she poses no real threat to me anymore, she’s still a very real threat to everyone around her, and I can’t afford to let it get to that point.
But when I see the way my bubble of peace once again fails to penetrate, bouncing right off her in much the same way it did the last time I tried, I decide to give her what she needs instead. Figuring a couple sips of elixir can’t hurt—if anything, from what I can see, it should go a very long way toward taming the beast.
I turn, slowly, cautiously, careful not to alarm her or set her off in any way, heading up the stairs and motioning for her to follow, when I glance over my shoulder and say, “I’m happy to share, Haven. I’ve got more than enough, so no worries there. Though I am curious—” I stop on the landing and face her. “Why do you need my juice? What happened to yours?”
“I ran out.” She shrugs, glaring at me as she adds, “I ran out because you stole a bunch of it, and now I’m gonna take it back.”
She grins, the promise of a drink seeming to appease her just the tiniest bit, though her words leave me chilled. I have no idea how much juice Roman might’ve kept on hand, but if he was anything like Damen it must’ve been a pretty healthy supply, a year’s worth at the very least. Since it’s forced to ferment under the proper moon phases, it’s not like you can just whip up a batch spontaneously. And the fact that Misa and Marco only made off with a bagful means she’s managed to plow through the rest of it in such a short amount of time it’s not only alarming but goes a long way toward explaining the state that she’s in.
I head for my den and over to the mini-fridge that’s placed just behind the wet bar. Reaching for a fresh new bottle as I say, “I didn’t steal your elixir. I have no interest or need for that kind of thing.”
Seeing her stand before me, hands shaking in outrage. “You’re such a liar! You think I’m stupid? How else did you survive? I know all about the chakras—Roman told me and Damen told him! It was back when Roman was controlling him, back when he convinced him to spill all kinds of secrets. I hit you in your weak spot and you know it. I hit you before you went down and after you went down, and I even hit you one last time for good measure just before I left you for dead. It should’ve killed you! I thought it did kill you. I was sure the only reason you didn’t disintegrate into a big pile of dust is because you weren’t as old as the rest of them. But now I know the real reason for why you’re still here—”
I look at her, knowing full well what that reason is—the fact that I watched my lives unfold right before me. The fact that I witnessed the truth. And because of it, I made the right choice, the only choice, which allowed me to rise above my weak chakra. No more, no less. Still, I’m interested in hearing her take on it.
“You drank Roman’s elixir.” She shakes her head, allowing the blue gemstones on her earrings to chime softly together. “It’s way more powerful than yours, as you well know, which is exactly why you drank it. It’s the only thing that saved you!”
I shrug, catching our reflections in the mirror on the far wall behind her—noting the difference between us—her darkness versus my light. The contrast so stark, it takes my breath away. Then averting my gaze just as quickly, determined not to overfocus on her sad, sorry state. I can’t afford the sympathy, not when I may be forced to kill her at some point. Switching my gaze back to hers when I say, “If that’s so true, then how come it can’t seem to save you? And how come it couldn’t save Roman either?”
But Haven’s done chatting. She’s determined to get what she came for.
“Give me the elixir.” She takes a slow, unsteady step toward me. “Give me the elixir and no one gets hurt.”
“I thought we just covered that.” I keep the bottle behind me, holding it well out of her reach. “You can’t hurt me anymore, remember? No matter what you do or how hard you try, you can’t get to me, Haven. So just maybe, instead of threatening me, you should try a whole new approach and try to get on my good side.”
But she just smiles. Causing her face to widen and lift in a way so ghastly it only serves to emphasize her hollow, red eyes. “Maybe I can’t hurt you, but trust me, Ever, I can still do some serious damage to the people who are near and dear to you. And, as good and fast as you may be, well, it’s not like you can be in all places at all times. It’s not like you can save everybody.”
And that’s when she does it—that’s when she takes advantage of my momentary shock at hearing her words and lunges straight for the elixir grasped in my hand.
And that’s also when I react just a little bit quicker than she planned.
Tossing the bottle aside, watching as it lands clear on the other side of the room, well out of reach, I pounce on her. Descending so sure and so fast she doesn’t see it coming until it’s way too late to react.
Throwing her down to the carpet as my fingers eagerly circle her neck. Wriggling through the tangle of necklaces, immediately noticing how her amulet is still gone.
But despite the fact that her face is turning blue, despite the fact that I’m slowly cutting off her air supply, she just laughs. The motion of it pushing her throat hard against the palm of my hand, as she emits a sound so gruesome, so awful, I’m tempted to kill her just to put an end to it.
But I can’t act rashly. Can’t afford to do anything of the sort. Not until I get what I want, and if the price is a few bottles of elixir, then so be it.
“Give me the fugging elixir!” she screams, the second I loosen my hold. Her body thrashing under mine, moving frantically, violently, thrusting from side to side, as she scratches and claws with sharp, pointy, blue nails.
Lashing out like a rabid animal.
Like a junkie gone too long without a fix.
Scrambling across the floor the moment I lift myself off, grasping the bottle, popping the top, and shoving it against her lips so hard and fast her front teeth break off from the force.
But she doesn’t miss a beat. Doesn’t pay it any notice at all. She just continues to gulp and glug, draining it so quickly it’s just a matter of seconds before it’s completely emptied, and she’s tossed it aside. A hint of color returning to her cheeks, though her teeth still haven’t re-formed—not that she seems to notice or care. She just looks straight at me, licking her lips, as she says, “More. And make it the good stuff this time. The stuff you stole. Your juice tastes like crap.”
“Didn’t seem to stop you.” I shrug, having no intention of handing over anything more until I get what I want. “You can have my entire supply for all I care. I’m not addicted, like you.” I slowly look her over, leaving no doubt just how troubled I am by the view. “But just so you know, I didn’t steal your elixir. Misa and Marco did.” I study her face, noting the way it changes, transforms, as she stops and considers my words, calculates the possibility of them actually holding even a smidgen of truth.
“And you know this because…?” She quirks her brow and places a hand on each hip, as she cocks her head to the side.
I meet her gaze, knowing I have to say something quickly, though not quite sure what that is. If I tell her I was there, that I saw it, then she’ll know I was looking for something else, some
thing she might not yet recognize the significance of. So, instead, I just shrug, forcing my voice, my entire demeanor to stay cool, calm, and collected when I say, “Because I didn’t steal it. And because Damen didn’t steal it either. And because that is hardly the reason why I survived your attack. And because it only makes sense, if you’ll stop long enough to think about it.”
She looks at me and frowns. And that’s all I need to see to know she’s not buying it. That she’s still convinced it was me.
“Or—or maybe it was Rafe?” I say, having temporarily forgotten about him. “I mean, when was the last time you even saw him anyway?”
But when I look at her again, it’s clear it’s not working. Even though everything I just said makes sense, it’s not quite getting me where I want to go, need to go, and thanks to the elixir she drank, she’s now just alert enough to realize it.
She smooths her heavily jeweled fingers over the front of her dress, plucks some stray carpet lint from her sleeve. “Not a problem,” she says. “I’ll deal with them. But in the meantime, since I’m here and all, what do you say you just give me the rest of your supply?”
thirty-five
Just as she’s leaving, clutching a single bottle of elixir tightly to her chest, Sabine marches through the side door.
Juggling her briefcase in one hand and a bag of groceries in the other, she stops, does a quick double take, and says, “Haven? I haven’t seen you in…ages. You’re looking…” Sabine pauses, brow slanted as she slowly looks her over. And even though Haven’s in much better shape than she was when she arrived, she’s still a long way from being anywhere even close to presentable. And for those not used to seeing her new look—well, she’s downright scary.
But Haven just laughs, shooting Sabine a friendly, broken-toothed smile when she says, “No worries. Trust me, my mom’s not crazy about it either. Which, by the way, is just one of the many reasons I’m divorcing her.”