He taps the crystal to the glass, drags it down each side, a bit across the top. Encouraging it to shatter into long, thin strips that fal to the ground before breaking into much smal er pieces that crumble at his feet.
I brace myself. Brace for just about anything. Expecting an angry whirl of energy that, if history is any indication, wil most likely hurl itself straight at me.
Which is why I’m surprised when she chooses to seep out slowly.
Her energy hovering before us, expanding, stretching, at first forming into a brief image of herself as my cousin Esme that lasts only a few seconds before she settles into her last incarnation as the gloriously beautiful, red-haired, green-eyed Drina—a beauty so startling even death cannot mar it.
She floats closer to Damen, her gaze moving over him, drinking him in as a quiet communication passes between them. And even though I can hear it, even though neither one of them tries to hide it from me, I stil turn away, try to grant them their privacy. Catching only about every third word, leaving their dialogue sounding something like:
Sorry—forgive you—forgive me—wrong—wasted—misguided—regretful—then back to sorry again.
She reaches toward him, cups his face between her fingers, her mouth tugging down at the corners when he involuntarily flinches at the feel of her—her gaze saddening at the bottomless pool of regret she finds in his eyes.
And when she turns to me, it’s not at al what I expected. The usual score of hate, taunts, and threats has been replaced with a soft lilting reverence.
I should’ve known the first time I killed you, she thinks. I should’ve realized back then that even without your presence beside him, your love never died. I may have succeeded in borrowing him for a time, but he was never really mine, and it was never very long before he went searching for you again. Throughout all of these years, from the very first moment he met you as Adelina, his heart was claimed for good. He belongs only to you. You and Damen are meant to be. And I’ve been a fool for interfering. She sighs, shakes her head, reaches forward as though to touch me, but then, remembering Damen’s reaction, she thinks better, returns her arm to her side.
And I’m not sure who’s more surprised, her, Damen, or me, when I choose to step forward—when I choose to reach for her hand and grasp it in mine. Suddenly knowing why Damen flinched the way he did, it’s not so much the cold, it’s more the buzz of her energy—the sheer, vibrating intensity is hard to get used to.
The words streaming into my head when she thinks: If you can forgive me, then soon, I’ll be leaving.
I gaze into the eyes of the person who kil ed me time and time again. Trying to rid herself of me, rid the world of me, only to find that she couldn’t. No matter how hard she tried, I kept coming back. And I’m amazed to find I can no longer think of her as the enemy. Now that I know the truth, know that we’re connected, that I’m as much a part of her as she is of me, I can no longer hate her. And even though this seems like the end, this good-bye is probably only temporary. I’ve no doubt we’l someday meet again. I just hope she can manage to hold on to some of the wisdom she’s gained.
She smiles, her face lighting up in a way that leaves her looking positively radiant, and at first I think it’s a response to what I just thought, only to see her eyes moving over me, motioning for Damen to look too.
Look—you’re glowing! Her expression changing to confusion when she adds: But … how can that be? Immortals don’t glow. You never glowed. But now you do. It’s so odd—what do you suppose that it means?
Damen squints, unable to see what I see—what she sees—the faint trace of purple that emanates from me, al around me.
She pauses, waiting for me to explain, but since I don’t even know where to begin, I just lift my shoulders and quirk my mouth to the side.
And Roman—have you sent him here too? She looks straight at me.
I pause, wanting to stress that it wasn’t me who kil ed Roman—that, contrary to some people’s opinions I’m not some crazy immortal kil er. But soon realize that two out of three is hardly a record worth bragging about, much less defending, I gulp down the words and nod toward the last two remaining cubes.
And just like when Damen approached hers, when she approaches Roman’s, al activity halts as he senses her presence and cries out for her. And the second Damen cracks it open, Roman whirls out in a furious storm of energy that expands and forms, spending a few seconds as the handsome, rakish Rhys before he settles on the way he looked as the even more handsome, even more rakish Roman. Complete with golden tousled hair, piercing blue eyes, suntanned skin, faded jeans that hang dangerously low, and an unbuttoned white linen shirt that showcases his finely sculpted abs.
But even though Damen and I stand right there before him, ready to explain, defend our actions, do whatever it takes to ease what could very easily become a precarious situation—just like in life, his sole focus is Drina.
She’s al he can see.
Though unlike the past six centuries, Drina can final y see him.
The two of them drawn to each other, gazing at each other for so long, Damen clasps my hand in his and starts to move away, nearing the last remaining block when Roman cal s: Brother.
Soon fol owed by: Friend.
And then: Enemy.
Though that last part is chased with a dazzling, white-toothed smile.
We meet Roman’s gaze. Noting the way the grin lights up his face, lights up his energy, making it spark and glow as he shuts his eyes tightly and concentrates on a long stream of words he wants us to hear.
A long stream of words I can’t seem to put into any sort of context, can’t make any kind of sense of.
A long convoluted list of herbs, potions, crystals, and … moon phases …
I gasp, eyes wide with disbelief, gaping at Damen, wondering if he hears what I hear, understands what, for me, just became clear.
It’s the antidote!
Roman is wil ingly, without being asked, bul ied, manipulated, or tortured, holding up his end of the deal.
The one we struck just minutes before he was kil ed and sent here.
The one where I agreed to give him what he wanted most, in exchange for what I wanted most.
Drina for the antidote that’l al ow Damen and me to be together in the way that we were as Alrik and Adelina—with no need for energy shields, no fear of our DNA clashing, no threat of Damen dying.
Roman’s making good on his word.
Taking a moment to repeat it once more, make sure that we got it, took note of it, committed it to memory, because he’l soon be moving on, with Drina by his side, and he doesn’t expect to see us again, or at least not for a very long time. This is our last chance. The opportunity won’t come again.
I gulp, nod, brimming with so much gratitude, so overcome with happiness, my eyes sting, my throat swel s, and I’ve no idea where to start, what to say.
But I don’t have to say anything. He and Drina have already joined hands, already turned away. Already headed to the next cube where, having no further need of us, they pool their energy in a way that splits it wide open, al owing Haven to burst out of her own personal hel .
She shoots straight for me. An angry bal of raging red energy that, from al appearances, is stil furious with me.
Stil blames me.
Stil intends to make good on her last spoken words—her threat to undo me.
Damen shouts, jumps between us, his arms spread wide, doing his best to cover me, to defend me from whatever she’s planned.
But just as she reaches us, hovering a mere razor’s width away, she stops, slows, and I watch, eyes wide with wonder, as the furious red glow of her simmers into a much softer rose-toned pink. Shifting between al of the personas of her previous lives, beginning with my cousin, Esme’s sister, Fiona, before transitioning into several more I vaguely recognize from scenes I’ve viewed of my past incarnations. Amazed to learn she’s been with me al this time, usual y from a distance, never as a close frien
d or even a sister, but stil , wow, I had no idea.
I start to apologize, want her to know how deeply sorry I am, but she’s far too impatient, and quickly waves it away. There’s stil more to show me, she’s not quite through yet, and I watch as she transitions into al of the guises she wore in her most recent life. Everything from her prima bal erina phase, to her J. Crew preppy phase, to the goth phase she was in back when we first met, to the short-lived Drina-wannabe phase that fol owed, to the emo phase that came shortly after, to the black leather and lace rock ’n’ rol gypsy look that didn’t last long before transitioning into her super-scary immortal witch phase, as Miles once cal ed it—the one her life ended with—until final y settling upon a version of herself I’ve never seen before. One where her hair is long and shiny and wel cared for, her eyes clear and bright, her clothing slightly edgy, Haven-like, but not crying out for attention or in-your-face angry. But the biggest change of al is the radiant smile that lights up her face, tel ing me she’s final y found herself—final y at peace.
Final y likes who she is.
Jabbing her thumb between Damen, Roman, and Drina, a love triangle that spanned way too many centuries, she shakes her head, rol s her eyes, and lets out a long wistful sigh that soon turns into a contagious laugh I can’t fight. The two of us giggling in a way that reminds me of better days spent with Miles at the lunch table, lazy afternoons holed up in her room with a stash of magazines piled high between us, Friday nights hanging in my Jacuzzi after having devoured an entire pizza.
Her focus shifted back to me when she thinks: I don’t hate you. Though I’m not gonna lie, I used to. And not just in that last life, but in most of the others as well. But that’s only because I was so unhappy with myself, I was sure that everyone else had it better, had what I needed. I was sure that if I could only claim what they had, then I could be happy too. She shakes her head, rol s her eyes at the absolute fol y of it. Anyway, you’ll be glad to know that’s all over now. I’m free in more ways than one. Now I’m just looking forward to whatever comes next.
I swal ow hard and nod, her words pretty much the opposite of what I’d prepared for, which makes them even more welcome. Ones I won’t soon forget.
And then, the next thing I know, Drina points, Haven squeals, Roman grins, and they al join hands, the three of them rushing toward something viewable only to them, disappearing into a bril iant flash of white light without once looking back.
twenty-five
Damen pul s me into his arms, grasps me tightly to him, then lifts me into the air and swings me around. My hair swirling behind me like a shiny gold cape as we twirl and spin and dance and laugh, gazing in wonder as this once-barren field begins to transform itself.
The jagged shards of prison glass sinking deep into the ground—recycling first into sand, then into a rich dark soil that provides instant nourishment for the formerly burned-out trees. Al owing them to straighten and stretch, to sprout a thick blanket of leaves, as a swath of purple and yel ow wildflowers bloom at their roots.
The two of us overcome with excitement, brimming with the glee of our triumph, Damen’s voice like a song in my ear when he says,
“We did it! We freed them—made amends—we even secured the recipe for the antidote, and it’s al because of you!” His lips find my forehead, my cheek, my nose, and my ear, then pul ing away, he adds, “Ever, do you realize what this al means?”
I look at him, my grin so wide my cheeks are stretched to their limits, but stil wanting to hear him say it, wanting to hear the words spoken out loud for both of us to hear.
“It means we can final y be together.” He stops, presses his forehead to mine, his breath coming fast and quick. “It means al of our problems are solved. It means that we’l never have to visit the pavilion again—not even as Alrik and Adelina—unless, of course, we want to.” He wiggles his brow, emits a low, deep laugh. “Al we have to do is head back to the earth plane, get working on the brew, and…” He pauses, smooths his thumb over my cheek, then leans in to kiss me again.
I return it with an intensity and fervor matching his. Aware of the slim veil of energy hovering between us, keeping him safe from what, thanks to Roman, has become my lethal DNA, which, also thanks to Roman, won’t be a threat for much longer. Hardly able to believe that the days of what we’ve come to refer to as our almost kiss are so close to being over.
Soon, very soon, we’l be able to live just like everyone else. Able to touch each other openly, freely, without any worries. Like we do in the pavilion—only better, because it’l be real.
Soon we’l embrace as ourselves—our present-tense selves—instead of in our various past-life guises.
I pul away ever so slightly, close my eyes and turn my face to the sky, stealing a moment to send a silent thanks to Roman, wherever he is, for giving us this wonderful gift.
Then just when I’m about to kiss Damen again, his face fal s and he moves out of my reach, answering the question in my inquiring gaze with a curt nod toward Lotus, who kneels at a distance.
She sits at the edge of a pond just a few feet away, her wispy silver strands flowing freely about her, murmuring softly with her hands clasped tightly to her chest. Gazing upon an abundance of lotus blossoms that rise through the murky dark waters to bloom above the surface. Their soft white and pink petals lifting upward, surrounded by shiny green scal op-edged leaves, one popping up right after the other until you can barely see the water for the flowers.
She remains like that for some time. Content to meditate on the wondrous view before her, until she turns to face us, wearing an expression that, while not exactly what I’d cal troubled, hardly matches the flood of triumph Damen and I are currently in the midst of.
Damen’s eyes narrow, his jaw clenches, bracing for whatever bad news he’s sure that she brings.
The two of us cautiously moving toward her, meeting halfway, both of us equal y startled when she rises from the muddy banks, looks at us, and says, “Congratulations.”
We wait. Wait for something to fol ow. But, for a while anyway, that seems to be al .
“You may return to the earth plane if you wish.” She glances back and forth between us.
Damen squeezes my hand, in need of no further prodding. He’s more than ready to leave right now, doesn’t see the point in wasting another second hanging around. But I stand firm. Dig my heels in. Sensing it’s not over yet, there’s something more Lotus is waiting to share.
“You have done wel . Al is in bloom.” She gestures toward the flowers that are stil blossoming, and to the landscape beyond. “You have even freed the lost ones.” She presses her palms together, forming a steeple she holds close to her heart, her simple gold band glinting at us. “And so you are free to leave. Free to return to your immortal lives. Yet, I wonder…”
We look at her, me curious, Damen on guard, fingers curling at his sides.
“I wonder if you wil want to return to your lives after al you have learned. I wonder if you wil choose a life of physical immortality after having learned the truth of the soul.”
Damen rol s his eyes, grunts, and again, tries to haul me away. But I stay right where I am, looking at Lotus when I say, “Are you implying we actual y have a choice?”
She lifts one gnarled old hand, brushes a stray wisp of hair away from her face. “Oh yes,” she says, her gaze moving over me. “There is a choice. A way out.”
I press my lips into a frown, trying to determine just what that might mean. Deciding I don’t like the conclusion I come to, don’t like it at al , when I say, “If you’re referring to death as a way out…” I shake my head, blink a few times, hardly believing she would even dare broach such a thing. “Wel , you can forget it. No way is that happening. I mean, in case you don’t remember, that pretty much results in a one-way ticket to the Shadowland for people like us. And since we did a pretty good job of cleaning up the Shadowland just now, we’d hate to see it resort right back to its old ways. Not to mention how there’s
no guarantee anyone would even show up to release us like we just released Roman, Drina, Haven, and everyone else.” I pause long enough to huff, blow my hair out of my eyes, but not long enough for her to interject. “Also, you should probably know that we have the antidote now—or at least the recipe to make it. Which means we’ve just been handed a whole new reason for living—a real y good reason for living. We have each other forever. We can live the life we’ve always dreamed of. And final y, wel , the whole dying thing is pretty much moot anyway, since I can’t actual y die anymore.
Back when Haven kil ed me, I rose above my weak chakra. I overcame my weakness, made the right decision, and because of it, I came back to join the living. I’m unkillable now.” I lift my shoulders, knowing it may sound weird, but then, weird is al relative here. “I’m a true immortal. Here for the duration. I’m not going anywhere, and I real y prefer that Damen doesn’t go anywhere either.”
“And you?” She turns to Damen, total y unfazed by everything I just said. “Do you agree with this? Do you feel as she does?”
He frowns, glares, teeth gnashing together as he grumbles an unequivocal “Of course I do!” Then he squeezes my hand, eager to leave.
But even though I’m eager to leave too, for the moment, my curiosity’s piqued and I want to see where this leads. Wondering if I might already know when I say, “This way out that you refer to, is this for us or for you?” My eyes narrowing as I recal her earlier words, when she begged me to release her, but from what, she never made clear.
Is she stuck?
A prisoner of the Shadowland but without the glass cage?
The answer coming in the form of her usual riddle when she says, “It is for you, for me, for al of us. Once I learned the truth, I was already too old and frail to make the journey. But now you are here. Returned just for this. I can see it in your eyes, in the light that surrounds you. You are the one. The only one. The fate of many lies in your hands.”