He meets my gaze, holding it for so long I can’t help but look away. His words instantly reminding me of Sabine, and how she took the exact opposite approach of Lina when she chose to blame me.
“You were lucky to know her,” I say, my throat going all hot and tight, until it threatens to close up completely. I know all too well how he’s feeling. My own family’s death is never far from my mind. But I can’t let myself go there—there’s another crisis on the horizon and I need to focus all of my energy on containing it.
“But if you were serious about helping out—” He pauses, waiting for my assurance before continuing on. “Well, I’m wondering if you wouldn’t mind watching the store. I mean, I know you don’t really want to work here anymore, and believe me, I know how angry you’ve been with me lately, and trust me, I don’t think for a minute that any of that will change because of this, but—”
I swallow hard. Swallow my words, knowing I have no real choice but to wait for him to continue. I came here not just to talk about Haven and all the ways he could go about protecting himself from her, but also to try to determine just what his intentions were the night he killed Roman.
What was he thinking?
What’s the real reason he did what he did?
But now, after all this, there is no way that conversation is going to happen anytime soon.
“—there’s just…” He shakes his head and breaks the gaze, squinting far into the distance when he says, “There’s just so much to take care of—the house, the store, the funeral arrangements…” He takes a deep breath, takes a moment to compose himself. “And I guess I’m just a little overwhelmed at the moment. And since you already know how everything works around here, it would be a huge help if you could stay and close up. But if not, no worries. I can probably try Ava, or even Honor I guess, but since you’re already here, and since you already offered—I just figured—”
Honor. His friend-slash-trainee Honor. Yet another topic we’ll have to discuss at some point.
“Not a problem.” I nod, eager to assure him. “I’m ready and willing to stay and work for as long as you need.” Knowing that if Sabine somehow finds out, it will not go over well, not in the least. But then again, it’s really none of her business. And if she chooses to make it her business, well, she can’t really fault me for helping a friend in his time of deep need.
Friend?
I look at Jude again, my eyes grazing over him, studying him carefully. No longer sure if the word still applies, or if it ever really did. We shared a past. We share a present. That’s all I really know at this point.
He sighs and shuts his eyes, his fingers moving over the lids, past the spliced brow, before dropping to the desk and gripping the sides as he stands. Taking a moment to dig deep into the front pocket of his jeans, fingers fishing around until he finds the bulky ring of keys he tosses toward me.
“Do you mind locking up?” He makes his way around the desk as I rise to my feet, the two of us suddenly finding ourselves face-to-face, sharing an awkwardly close proximity.
Close enough for me to take in the depths of those blue-green eyes—to feel the lull and sway of the wave of calm his mere presence brings.
Close enough to prompt me to take a step back, an act that causes a flash of pain to flit across his gaze.
Waving my hand at the keys when I say, “I don’t actually need those, you know.”
He looks me over for a moment, then nods and pockets them again.
The silence lingering between us for so long, I’m desperate to break it when I say, “Listen, Jude, I—”
But when his eyes meet mine, his amazing aqua gaze reduced to a bottomless sea of loss, I know I can’t even give him the summarized version of what he needs to know. He’s far too consumed by his grief to care about Haven or the threats she promises to keep—far too depressed to even think about the best ways of defending himself.
“Just…just take all the time you need. That’s all I wanted to say,” I mumble, watching the way he moves, carefully, cautiously, allowing for a wide berth between us, working to avoid any sort of accidental physical contact with me.
But I know it’s more for my benefit than his. His feelings for me haven’t changed, that much is clear.
“Oh and Jude—” I call, noting how quickly he stops, though he refuses to turn. “Be careful out there…please?”
He nods, his only reply.
“Because later, when things have settled a bit, and you have some time, we really need to—”
Not even giving me a chance to finish before he’s already making his way down the hall.
Discarding the words with a wave of his hand, as he moves through the dark store and into the daylight, disappearing into the warmth of the sun.
nine
By seven o’clock, the last sale has been rung, the front door locked, and I’m in the back room with my feet propped up on the desk, peering at my cell phone long enough to see that Sabine has left no less than nine messages, all of them demanding to know where I am, when I’ll return, and what possible explanation I could have for flaunting her rules in such a deliberately blatant way.
And even though it makes me feel bad, I don’t return the call. I just turn off my phone, stash it back in my bag, and blow it all off in favor of Summerland.
Stepping through that shimmering veil of soft, golden light and landing right on the front steps of the Great Halls of Learning. Hoping that, once again, it’ll come through in a pinch and provide the answers I seek.
I stand before the door, breath caught in my throat, as I gaze upon the glorious, ever-changing façade of all the world’s most beautiful and wondrous places. Watching as the Taj Mahal morphs into the Parthenon, which turns into the Lotus Temple, which becomes the great pyramids of Giza, and so on, until the doors swing open and I’m swept inside. Taking a moment to gaze all around, wondering if I’ll run into Ava or Jude now that they both know how to get here, but not recognizing anyone, I settle onto one of the long wooden benches, slipping in amongst the monks and rabbis and priests, and various other seekers, before closing my eyes and focusing on the answers I need.
My mind rewinding to the exact moment when Jude’s spilled coffee ran across his desk, just about to race over the side and down to the floor, when he stopped it with his sleeve. Allowing the liquid to seep into the fabric, to blend with the fibers, until it caused a big stain, much like the antidote stained Roman’s white shirt.
Leaving behind a big blotch of green.
An imprint of sorts.
A combination of chemicals—a kind of recipe if you will—permanently embedded into those soft, cotton fibers.
Chemicals that if properly broken down will lead me to the formula for the antidote that I need—the only thing that will allow Damen and me to truly touch each other again.
While I once thought that all hope of claiming the cure died along with Roman—now I know better—now I know it lives on.
What I’d originally thought was lost forever—survives in the stain on his shirt.
The shirt Haven snatched right out of my hands.
The shirt I have no choice but to snatch right back if Damen and I are ever going to enjoy any kind of normal life together.
I take a deep breath, replacing the image of Jude’s stained T-shirt with Roman’s white linen one, as my mind asks the question:
Where is it?
Soon followed by:
And how do I go about getting it?
But no matter how long I wait—no matter how many times I inquire—no answers come.
The stubborn silence ultimately growing into a message of its own.
An undeniable refusal to help.
Just because the Halls welcomed me, doesn’t mean they’re willing to assist. This isn’t the first time they’ve denied me the answers I seek.
And I’ve finally come to realize it means one of two things: Either I’m delving into something that is none of my business, which really doesn’
t make any sense in this case since it’s obviously very much my business, or I’m delving into something I’m not meant to know at this time or possibly any other, which, unfortunately, makes plenty of sense.
Something is always conspiring against us.
Something is always keeping us apart.
Whether it’s Drina always killing me, Roman always tricking me, or Jude either intentionally or unintentionally sabotaging me—something is always standing in the way of Damen’s and my ultimate happiness.
And I can’t help but wonder if there’s some kind of reason behind it.
The universe is not nearly as chaotic as it seems.
There’s a definite reason for everything.
But when the Great Halls decide to shut you out, no amount of clever rephrasing can change that.
This one is on me.
It’s my job to find the shirt. My job to determine if Haven even realizes what it is that she’s keeping from me.
Is she holding it for sentimental reasons, because it’s the last thing Roman wore on the night he died?
Does she keep it as a visual reminder that helps fuel her rage against Jude and me?
Or does she know about the stain and the promise it holds?
Has she known all along what I’m just discovering now?
All I know for sure is that without the aid of Summerland, I’ve got no choice but to head back to the earth plane to see what I can learn there.
And I’m just about to make the portal again, when I sense him.
Damen.
He’s here.
Somewhere close by.
So, instead, I close my eyes and make one last request, asking for Summerland to lead me to him.
ten
The next thing I know, I’m making my way through the field of blazing red tulips, following the pull of Damen’s energy all the way to the front door of the pavilion.
I pause just outside it, unsure if I should really go in. At first, thinking it odd that he’d come here without me, then figuring it’s just his way of being near me when I’m busy elsewhere, I poke my head inside, barely making out the top of his head peeking up from the couch. Just about to call out, let him know that I’m here and share what I’ve learned about the shirt, when I see it.
The screen.
And the horrible scene that’s projected upon it.
It’s my Southern life.
My slave life.
Back when I was helpless and abused, but not without hope.
And on this particular day there seems to be an abundance of hope—at least, all things considered anyway. Because even though it takes me a moment to catch up to what’s truly going on, one thing is clear—I’m being sold. Removed from my horribly abusive master so I can go work for a much younger man with dark wavy hair, a long, lean build, and heavily lashed eyes that I recognize immediately.
Damen.
He bought me. Rescued me. Just like he said!
And yet—if that’s the case, then why do I look so sad? Why is my bottom lip quivering, my dark eyes tearing, on the day when my one true love, my soul mate, my knight in shining armor has come to save me from a life of drudgery?
Why do I look so unhappy, with shaking limbs and a gaze filled with fear—continually glancing over my shoulder while dragging my feet—so clearly reluctant to join him?
And even though I know it’s wrong to spy, that I should speak up and let Damen know that I’m here, I don’t. I don’t say a word. I just remain right where I am. Quiet and still. Allowing only the shallowest breath, knowing this is it. The big thing he’s been hiding all along—the same thing Roman and Jude hinted at, and Haven taunted me with. And if I want to get to the bottom of it, see the scene as real and raw as the day it all happened, I can’t alert him to my presence. Though his inability to sense me proves just how engrossed he really is.
And it’s not long before I see it—the real reason behind all the sadness. The real reason why I reacted the way I did.
I’m being pulled away from my family. From everyone I’ve ever loved. From the only circle of support I’ve ever known in the world.
This kind and wealthy white man may think he’s saving me, committing some kind of noble, good deed, but one look at my face is all it takes to see that he’s doing so at the expense of my only source of happiness.
My mother sobs in the background, as my father stands tall and silent beside her. His gaze is grief-stricken, troubled, though urging us all to stay strong. And even though I cling to them, hanging on with all that I’ve got, determined to seal the impression of their scent, their touch, their very being, it’s not long before I’m pulled away from it all.
Damen grasping my arm as he pulls me toward him and away from my mother—my pregnant mother who anxiously embraces her large, swollen belly that shelters my unborn sister—pulls me away from my father, my family—away from the boy just behind them who reaches for me—the tips of our fingers just barely meeting, the touch cool and fleeting, before I’m yanked far out of his reach. Though my gaze refuses to leave him, my eyes remain steadfast, drinking him in, until the image is seared onto my brain—this lanky, black boy with the piercing brown eyes that instantly reveal who he is.
My friend—my confidant—my intended—the one I know in this life as Jude.
“Quiet now,” Damen whispers, his lips at my ear, as my family is told to turn away and get back to work. “Hush now, please. Everything’s going to be okay. I promise to keep you safe. As long as you’re with me, no one can ever hurt you again. But first you have to trust me, okay?”
But I won’t trust him. Can’t trust him. If he really cared about me, if he’s really as rich and powerful as he claims, then why can’t he buy us all? Why can’t he keep us together?
Why does he take only me?
But before I can see any more, Damen cuts the scene. Just cuts it right off. Instantly erasing it as though it never did exist.
And in that moment I know that this is what he means by editing.
He’s not just sparing me from viewing uncomfortable scenes like my own gruesome deaths—he’s sparing himself—the image he’s worked so hard to craft—unwilling to allow me to witness his more shameful acts.
Like the one I just saw.
The one that may be erased but is forever sealed in my brain.
And I don’t even realize I’ve gasped, don’t even realize I’ve made any sound at all, until he leaps from the couch, his eyes wide, face frantic, when he finds me standing right there behind him.
“Ever!” he cries, voice choked with panic. “How long have you been there?”
But I don’t answer. My expression alone is answer enough.
His gaze darts between me and the screen, as he rakes through his glossy, dark hair, the words rough, unsteady, when he drops his hands to his sides and says, “It’s not what you think. I swear, it’s—it’s not at all what it appeared to be.”
“Then why’d you cut it?” My gaze harsh, unforgiving, unwilling to bend even the tiniest bit. “Why’d you erase it, if not to hide it from me?”
“There’s more to the story—much, much more and I—”
“You don’t trust me?” I cut in, unwilling to hear his denials. Not when we both just watched the same, horrible thing. “After all that we’ve been through, after all that I’ve shared with you—you’re still hiding things from me?” I fight to steady my breath as I press my hand flat against my belly, feeling more than a little sickened by this. “So tell me, Damen, just how far does this go—this editing of yours? What else could you possibly be hiding from me?” Remembering what Haven alluded to in the bathroom today and warning myself not to fall into her trap, not to let her divide and conquer us. Then dropping the thought just as quickly. I saw what I saw. The evidence played out before me clear as day.
“First you wait until the very last minute to tell me the truth about you and me and Jude—and now—now this?” I shake my head, still reeling from the vision of who I
was and who he might still possibly be. “Is this some sort of sick game you’re playing? Is this how you get your kicks? Tell me, Damen, just how many times, in how many lives, have you pulled me away from my family and friends?” He looks at me, face ashen, but I’m on a roll and there’s no stopping me now. “I mean, there’s the time we just saw, and there’s this life, the one I’m in now…” I pause, knowing that’s not exactly fair. I’m the one who lingered in the field of my own free will. I’m the one who was so entranced by the magick of Summerland I chose to stay back while the rest of my family moved on. But still, had he not fed me the elixir, maybe I would’ve eventually found them—maybe we’d all be together right now. And I’m so upset by my thoughts, by the images that refuse to stop playing in my head, that I can’t decide which is better—for me to have died and joined up with my family—or for me to have lived so I can deal with all this.
I turn, legs shaking, heart crashing, needing to get out, get some air, no longer able to breathe in this room.
Damen’s voice calling out from behind me, begging me to stop, to slow down, claiming that it can all be explained.
But I refuse to stop.
Refuse to slow down in any way.
I just keep on running.
Just keep on going until I’ve found my way home again.