And before I can do anything to stop it, she’s on him. Fueled by the juice that rages within her, the juice that I gave her, she lets go of his arm only to catch him by the throat. Lifting him high into the air as his feet kick and dangle beneath him, shaking the shirt before her, shaking it at me when she says, “What the fug is going on here?”
“I don’t know,” I say, careful to keep my voice low, steady, slowly approaching her with my hands held where she can see them. “Really. I have no idea what he’s doing. Perhaps you should ask him?”
She glances at Jude, sees the way his eyes bulge, the way his face grows swollen and red, and she drops him just as quickly, her grip switching to his arm to keep him from bolting, as he sputters and coughs and fights to catch his breath.
“You two plan this?” She glares at me.
“No.” I glance between her and Jude, wondering why he always has to show up at all the wrong times.
Why he always wrecks everything.
Knowing one thing for sure—it’s not a coincidence. There’s no such thing. The universe is far too harmonious for such randomness as that.
So what then? Why is it that every time I’m so close to getting exactly what I want, Jude shows up at just the right moment to thwart all my plans?
There’s got to be something more to it—some sort of reason or meaningful explanation behind it—but what that reason or explanation could be, is completely beyond me.
Haven holds up the shirt, scrutinizing it, inspecting it, trying to determine why I’d want it, why Jude would risk so much to get it, what possible significance it might hold for anyone other than her.
Then she switches her gaze between us, noting how he gazes at the stain, noting how I watch him gazing at the stain—and that’s when she knows.
That’s when the lightbulb goes on and it all comes together.
That’s when she loses herself in peals of shoulder-shaking laughter.
Laughing so hard she can barely contain herself. Bending forward, one hand on her knee, she heaves and coughs in a series of thigh-slapping spasms, until she finally gets hold of herself, rights herself, and says, “I totally get it now.” She dangles the shirt from the tips of her fingers as a hideous grin spreads across her cheeks. “I do, I do indeed. But, unfortunately for you”—she points at me—“or, maybe, even possibly you—” She jerks her head toward Jude. “It seems like Ever here has a very big decision to make.”
thirty-seven
She turns, eyes darting between us as she says, “You know, at first I kept the shirt with me all the time. Carried it everywhere I went. To school, to the store, I even slept with it just so I’d never have to be far from his scent.” She shrugs. “I pretty much looked upon it as my last connection to Roman—the one remaining thing I’d ever truly have of his. But now I know differently. Everything you see here is mine. Roman never planned on dying, so he didn’t bother making a will. Which means no one else has any claim to his things, and I dare them to try. This is my connection to Roman.” She waves the shirt through the air, the fabric gently swaying as she points at the collection of antiques. Using her other hand to tighten her grip on Jude’s sleeve as she adds, “This house, these things, everything, all of it, belongs to me. I have reminders of him everywhere I look, so it’s not like I need some dumb white shirt anymore. No, you’re the one who needs it, Ever. This is all about the stain, right? It’s left over from that infamous antidote you came so close to getting if it wasn’t for this guy.” She grips Jude harder, causing him to flinch, but he refuses to cry out, refuses to give her the satisfaction of knowing she’s actually causing him pain. “And now it seems he’s done it again.” She turns to Jude, tsking as she shakes her head. “If this guy hadn’t gotten in the way, you’d be living happily ever after now, wouldn’t you? Or, at least that’s been your version of the story anyway. So I ask you, you still willing to stand behind that? You still willing to blame him for everything?”
I look at her, keeping my gaze steady, my body tensed, ready for anything, though refusing to answer, refusing to fall into whatever trap she has set.
But she just rolls her eyes, not at all dissuaded by my silence, saying, “Well, it’s not like it matters anyway, because what’s done is done, and it’s not like I need you to know what’s really going on here. You honestly managed to convince yourself that all the answers live here.” She wags the shirt before me. “In a big, green blob of a stain on a white linen shirt. You honestly plan to drop it off at some crime lab or, better yet, take it to the science lab at school so you can get extra credit for breaking down all the components, as well as finally getting your hands on the recipe that’ll allow you and Damen to, as Roman would say: shag your bleedin’ hearts out!” She laughs and shakes her head, her Ouroboros tattoo flashing in and out of view as she shoots me a pitying look, as though she can hardly believe the foolishness of it all. “So tell me, Ever, how am I doing so far? Am I right? Am I pretty much on track?”
But even though she continues to eyeball me, even though she pretty much nailed the truth on its head, I don’t answer, and I’m careful not to let on. I just continue to stand there, warning Jude with my eyes not to do anything as rash and stupid as the last time, while keeping watch over Haven, who’s still a long way from being at the top of her game, but is still able to do a good bit of damage and wreak a good bit of havoc, from what I’ve seen.
Taking great care to not let her catch me as I covertly call for backup. Sending a telepathic message to Damen that consists of nothing more than the image unfolding before me.
Knowing it’s just a matter of time before he appears.
All I have to do is stall until then.
“Listen, Haven—” I start, but I don’t get very far.
She’s seen it.
Seen the shift in me.
And because of it, she’s not about to indulge me any further.
And before I can do anything to stop it, she’s got Jude by the neck again, while she kicks the screen away from the fire and dangles Roman’s white shirt just over the blaze.
Her fingers shaking as the shirt dangles precariously. Allowing the flames to spark and lick and blacken the hem, as she looks at me and says, “No use wasting any more time here, is there? So whaddya say we just cut to the chase, shall we? Time to decide, Ever. The choice is yours and yours alone to make. What’ll it be—a lifetime of nonstop, happy shagging or—Jude getting to enjoy a long life?”
Jude gasps and struggles against her, but when he looks at me, instead of a plea for help, his gaze begs only forgiveness. His oxygen supply becoming more and more scarce the tighter she grips, yet he still allows me to see inside his head.
He came here for me.
Only for me.
He wanted to make good on his word, to prove that he really does just want to see me happy. He wanted to make up for what he did all those months before, right here in this house. And now, he’s ready to die for it if it should come to that. He’s fully prepared to sacrifice himself to see that I finally get what I want, to see that it’s done.
Do it! he urges, his gaze holding mine, the feel of it so warm, so loving it robs me of breath. Please, I just want you to be happy. And because of everything you’ve shown me, everything I’ve learned in Summerland, I’m free of all fear. Think of it as my final gift to you. I was wracking my brain, trying to think of a way to make up for everything, when I remembered Roman’s shirt, remembered the way you reacted the day I spilled my coffee and soaked it up with my sleeve. And after putting the two together, I realized this would be the perfect way to erase my mistakes.
He closes his eyes, but the thoughts don’t stop there, he continues to think: But now I’ve only made it worse, and I’m so sorry. I really, truly am. I just want you to know that my love has always been true and my intentions good. I’ve never once meant to harm you.
I choke back a sob, work past the knot in my gut, blink back my stinging wet tears, and glance between him and the shir
t Haven holds just shy of the flames.
And I know that all I have to do to get the one thing I’ve sought for so long is to make the choice they’re both begging me to make.
Jude’s already given his consent. He’s practically pleading with me to do it already.
And Haven, well, Haven can hardly contain her excitement. This is exactly the sort of thing she’s come to live for.
Exactly the kind of thing she’s come to enjoy most in this world.
So I take a deep breath, allowing the words forgive me, to stream from my mind to Jude’s as I turn to Haven and say, “You know, this is the exact same kind of crap Roman used to play. And like I told him, I’ll tell you, I don’t play this game anymore.”
thirty-eight
She looks at me, clearly unable to believe what she just heard.
So I repeat it, leaving no room for doubt when I say, “Seriously. I’m not choosing. I’m not playing this game. So it looks like you’re gonna have to come up with something else—and hopefully it’ll be something a little more original, a little more unique. Take your time, though.” I lift my shoulders in a way that’s deliberately calm and cool. “I’m in no hurry. Though you might want to lighten up on poor Jude, unless, of course, you’ve decided to kill him after all, in which case, feel free to grip even tighter and finish the job. Either way, I’ll be right here. I’m not going anywhere ’til I get what I came for.”
She looks at me, hands beginning to shake from the effort, rage taking over again. Her scathing, hate-filled gaze moving over me as she says, “So help me, Ever, I will burn this shirt and kill Jude, and there’s nothing you can do to stop it.”
“No you won’t.” My voice remains firm as my gaze holds steady on hers. Noticing how she’s loosened her grasp just the tiniest bit, though doing my best not to let on that I saw, for fear that she’ll only tighten up and cause him great pain yet again. “I know of at least two very good reasons why you won’t even try.”
She looks at me, her entire body growing increasingly shaky as she quickly loses whatever grip she’d managed to hang onto until now.
“One, because it’s been a little too long since your last drink, and you’re already starting to suffer withdrawal.” I shake my head and cluck my tongue against the inside of my cheek, wearing an expression of disapproving pity. “Just look at yourself, Haven, you’re a hollow-eyed, sunken-faced, shivering wreck. It took years—centuries probably—for Roman to build up the kind of tolerance to drink as much as you have in just a few months. You can’t handle it, you’re in way over your head. Just look at yourself, will you?”
“And two?” she says, voice raspy, acid-tinged, broadcasting her extreme displeasure with me.
“And two.” I smile, eyes never once leaving hers. “You’re about to be outnumbered. Damen is here.”
I can feel his presence, feel him pulling into the drive, rushing through the front door, down the maze in the hall. Warning Miles to stay back, to not get involved or venture any further, as he storms into the den and Haven gazes upon them. Seeing Damen, standing right beside me, while Miles peers in through the doorway, having refused to listen to Damen’s warning to stay out of the way.
Narrowing her eyes when she says, “Oh, would you look at that—Damen brought his own backup. That’s so cute!”
I turn, glimpsing Miles, his aura dimming, his shoulders cringing, regretting the moment he decided to enter this room when he takes in the gruesome sight of his former best friend.
Haven glares, her eyes blazing with fury when she says, “You chose the wrong side, Miles.” She narrows her gaze even further, until all I can see are two slits of red. “I can’t believe what a traitor you turned out to be.”
Miles meets her gaze, and if he’s scared, he doesn’t show it. He just straightens his spine, squares his shoulders, and combs his fingers through his hair, his aura beaming, strengthening, when he says, “I haven’t chosen at all. I may not agree with your more recent choices, I may have chosen to distance myself a bit, but as far as I’m concerned we never stopped being friends. I mean, seriously, Haven, so far I’ve made it through your ballerina phase, your preppy phase, your goth phase, your emo phase, and now your super-scary immortal witch phase.” He shrugs casually as he takes a moment to glance around the room. “And the fact is, I’m not going anywhere. For one thing, I haven’t yet given up on you, and for another, well, I’m way too curious to see which role you’ll decide to play next.”
She rolls her eyes, voice raspier than ever when she says, “Well, I hate to break it to ya, but there is no next, Miles. Whether you like it or not, this is it. This is the new and improved, infinite version of me. I’m completely self-actualized. I’m everything I was ever meant to be.”
Miles shakes his head. “I really wish you’d rethink this or look in a mirror at least.”
But if she hears it, she chooses to ignore it and instead turns her attention back to Damen. “So, Damen Auguste Esposito.” She smiles, her face garish, eyes red and flashing, using a name that was thrust on him a very long time ago, back when his parents were murdered and he was turned over to the orphanage where he lived until the black plague ravaged the area and he spared himself by making the elixir. A name he hasn’t used for several centuries at least, and it takes me a moment to recognize it. “I know all about you. I’m not sure if Ever mentioned it or not, but Roman kept very good records, very detailed records. And you, well, let’s just say you’ve been a very, very naughty boy, now haven’t you?”
Damen shrugs, careful to keep his face still, his emotions well hidden. “I brought you more elixir. I left a big box by the door, and believe me, there’s plenty more where that came from. So why don’t you come with me and have a look, okay? You can even have a taste if you’d like.”
“Why don’t you save me the steps and bring it to me instead?” She bats her eyes, attempting to smile in the way that she used to—cute, charming, flirtatious, with a hint of adorable quirkiness. But she’s veered so far from that old version of herself, it just ends up looking creepy instead. “As you can see, I’m a little busy here. Ever and I were just working through the details of a little deal that we made, and if I’m not mistaken, the fact that she summoned you means she no longer trusts me. Which is pretty ironic if you consider that not only did she make me this way, but, from everything I saw in Roman’s journals, well, she really has no good reason to trust you either, now does she?”
“Enough with the journals,” I say, eager to move away from all this. “I know everything, Haven. There’s nothing left for you to lord over us, so why don’t you just—”
“You sure about that?” Her eyes dart between us, as though she knows something I don’t and can’t wait to reveal it. “You know about his past with Drina? How he faked his own death in a fire? About the little slave girl he stole from her family? You know about all of that?” She glances between us, including Jude, but he just meets her gaze and gives nothing away.
“She does.” Damen looks at her. “And, by the way, I didn’t steal the slave girl, I bought her in order to free her. Unfortunately, that’s how it was done back then. It was a very dark time in our history. But I don’t think you’re really all that interested in reliving that. So please, don’t waste any more of our time with this nonsense. Just let go of Jude and hand over the shirt. Now.”
“Now?” She balks, lifting her brow. “Oh no, I don’t think I’ll be doing that now or any other time, for that matter. That’s not the way this game is played. In fact, that pretty much goes against all the rules. And since you’re so late to the party, allow me to explain it to you. Basically, a choice must be made. You can either, A, choose to save Jude, or B, choose to save the shirt. So Damen, what’ll it be—a person’s life or your own self-interest? Kind of like what Roman made Ever do when she made me drink, right here in this room, well, at least according to Ever anyway. I can’t say for sure since I was so out of it. Though I do remember how the whole thing went down right
there on that couch.” She jerks her head toward it. “Which, I guess, is probably why she’s refusing to play this time around. Must be a painful reminder since it’s pretty obvious how much she regrets her decision. It’s pretty obvious how she wishes she’d just let me die instead. But just because she won’t play doesn’t mean you can’t. So tell me, Damen, which one will it be? Just tell me and it’s yours and yours to keep!”
Damen looks at her, preparing to charge, to take her down and put an end to all this. I can feel it in the way his energy shifts. I can see the plan forming in his head. But I quickly warn him against it—pleading with him to stay calm and still and to not do a thing. She’s baiting him, expecting no less than an ambush, and there’s far too much at stake to play it that way.
“Haven, no one’s choosing anything,” I say. “Because no one’s playing your stupid little game. So why don’t you just let go of Jude, hand over the shirt, and try to get a grip on yourself—on your life. Believe it or not, I’m still willing to help you. I’m still willing to put all the bad stuff behind us, so you can recover. Seriously. Just—just give me the shirt and let go of Jude and—”
“Choose!” she screams, her whole body shaking so badly my gut jumps into my throat when I see how closely the shirt veers toward the flames. “Fugging choose already, sheesh!”
And even though she means it, even though her eyes blaze with rage, I just look at her and shake my head.
“Fine.” She glares. “If you two won’t choose, then I’ll choose for you. But just remember, you had your chance.”
She turns toward Jude, her lips parting as though she’s about to say something, something that might be good-bye or good luck or good riddance or—or anything of the sort.
But it’s not real.
She’s trying to throw us all off.
Make us think Jude’s not long for this world when she couldn’t care less about him.