I’m feeling protective, not envious. I don’t want him to get hurt. Jude has a long history of fal ing for al the wrong girls—ones who end up hurting him—including me.
And either she’s making vast improvements in her psychic skil s, or I am wearing my very worst poker face ever, because she looks right at me and says, “Look, Ever, I know you don’t like me, or don’t trust me, or both, or whatever, but anyway, a lot has happened in the last six months. I think you’d be amazed.”
“Yeah, wel , last time you said that it turned out to be one of those changes that wasn’t even remotely for the better.” My eyes level on hers, holding the look for a moment before moving on to the rest of her.
Noticing how her formerly trend-conscious wardrobe has completely transformed, pared down to a yin/yang tee that hangs wel past the waistband of her faded old jeans, a malachite ring, or rather, Jude’s malachite ring, resized with silk thread and shoved onto her middle finger, while a pair of rubber flip-flops dangle from her feet. And I can’t help but wonder if she’s not just dating Jude, but raiding his closet too.
“You’re right,” she says, not the least bit fazed by the admission, which alone is a pretty good indication of progress. “But, what I meant was, I think you’d be surprised in a good way. I’m no longer working against you, Ever. Seriously. I know you don’t believe it, but real y, I’ve changed. My whole outlook has changed. And just so you know, I truly care about Jude. I’m not going to hurt him like you.”
I look at her, waiting for her to finish that sentence, sure that what she real y meant to say was: “I’m not going to hurt him like you think, ” and that she’l soon correct herself.
But nope, she leaves it at that. Apparently she said what she meant, and it’s not like I can deny that it’s true.
“And Stacia?” I ask, preferring to change the subject to something just as bad if not worse. “Has she made this change along with you?” Knowing firsthand just how selfish and clueless she is, remembering how hard it was just to convince her to apologize for some of the more horrible things that she’d done. But hey, miracles do occur, and it’s never too late to turn your life around and reach for something better—or at least that’s what I hear.
Though Honor’s pretty realistic where her friend is concerned, which means she just laughs when she says, “What can I say? Stacia’s more of a work in progress. But trust me, she’s not near as bad as she used to be, and that’s saying something, right? Anyway, if Jude sees fit to like me, and Ava sees fit to trust me, wel , I was thinking maybe you might try to … wel , at least tolerate me, then we’l see where that leads.”
“And just what is Ava seeing fit to trust you with?” I ask. “Other than helping out at the store, I mean?”
Honor stands, her attention momentarily claimed by the bel clanging hard against the door, announcing a new arrival, as she says,
“For one thing, she’s seen fit to have me track down some rare herbs for Damen. Something to do with some antidote he’s making?”
She lifts her brow, directs a wave to the browsing customer, then returns to me. “And, as it just so happens, it arrived about an hour ago.
Got it right here.” She reaches under the counter, grabs a tiny plain-wrapped package, and slaps it down in front of her. “I was gonna cal him to come pick it up, but now that you’re here, wel , maybe you should take it to him? I’m guessing it’s been a while since you’ve last seen him, no?”
I stare at the package, my heart hammering, my throat constricting, aware of her gaze weighing on me.
“What day is it?” I ask.
She shoots me a funny look. “Sunday, why?”
“Sunday…”
“Sunday, May twenty-fourth.” She slinks around the counter and makes for her customer, as I grab the package, shove it deep inside my front pocket, and make my way out the door.
thirty-five
I don’t go to Damen’s.
I plan to, I have every intention to, but there’s something else I need to do first. So after manifesting a car, I head straight for Jude’s.
Wanting to catch him before he leaves for the store, and nearly crashing right into him when he backs his Jeep out of his drive just as I’m pul ing in.
“Ever?” He peers at me from his sideview mirror as his car jumps to a halt and he springs from his seat.
I stare. I can’t help it. He looks so completely different from the last time I saw him.
His head is shaved.
And without his trademark tangle of long golden/bronze dreadlocks he’s barely recognizable—or at least until his eyes find mine anyway. That bril iant aqua-green gaze is al too familiar, not to mention the wave of cool, calm energy that thrums over me, through me, al around me, in the same way it has for the last several centuries.
He runs a self-conscious hand over his newly shorn head, his tropical gaze meeting mine when he says, “Figured it was time for a change, but from the look on your face I’m thinking I should start growing it again.”
I slip out of my car, trying my best to not overdo it with the staring. Even though he looks great, in fact, better than great, it’s stil a pretty big visual adjustment to make.
“Nah.” I smile brightly and shake my head. “Keep it. I mean, what’s the point of going back, when you can go forward instead?”
His eyes graze over me, al owing the words to hang between us until he breaks the silence and says, “You look like you’ve been through the wringer.” He motions toward the sorry state of my clothes. “But you made it, and that’s what matters. It’s good to see you, Ever.” And I can tel by the tone of his voice and the glint in his eye that for the first time in a long time he actual y means it. My presence no longer elicits that same brand of longing it used to.
“And you.” I chase the words with another smile, wanting him to know that I mean it too.
We stand before each other, al owing the silence to build. But it’s not the awkward kind of silence, it’s the kind shared by two people who’ve experienced something so extraordinary there’s just no way to put it into words.
“When’d you get back?” I ask, wondering if he was gone a long time too.
He looks at me, squints, and says, “Long time ago. Way before you. I thought about going after you, trying to find you, but Lotus warned me against it, warned me to not get involved.” Jude jangles his keys, motions toward his front door. “Do you want to go inside?”
I press my lips together, thinking about inside. The kitchen where I once did his dishes, the old chair where I used to sit, the antique door he uses as a coffee table, the brown corduroy couch where he confessed his feelings for me …
“No, I—” I look at him, swal ow hard, and start again. “I just wanted to make sure you made it back from Summerland. Just wanted to make sure you got through it okay, and…” I lift my shoulders, look al around, seeing the peonies back in bloom—big, vibrantly colored puffbal s of purple and pink sprouting from the top of sturdy green stems. “And, it seems you did, so…”
But he won’t let me off that easily. He won’t al ow me to just brush it away. “Should we talk about it?” he asks, his gaze tel ing me he’s more than wil ing to do so if I want.
And while we most certainly could, I can’t help but think: What would be the point?
I mean, what’s there left to talk about, real y? We know everything now. We relived the actual events for ourselves. So what’s the point in rehashing what we already know?
I shake my head and direct my gaze to our feet—he in his usual brown rubber flip-flops, me in my crusty, dirty hiking boots. Then I lift my head and say, “That would just end up being redundant now, wouldn’t it?”
He lifts his shoulders, keeps his gaze on me.
“Though, it must be a relief to know you didn’t real y love me and lose me al those years, right?”
He tilts his head, confused by my statement.
“What I mean is, or at least from what I can tel after stringing it a
l together, it’s pretty clear you were just trying to keep me and Damen apart so he wouldn’t make me immortal. You know, so he wouldn’t succeed at what he’d failed to do that first life of ours when you were Heath, he was Alrik, and I was Adelina.”
“Is that real y your take?” He leans toward me, his gaze so piercing it causes me to nod, gulp, scratch my arm. Indulging in al of my nervous tel s, one after another, which leaves me wondering why I insisted on saying such a thing if it’s only going to result in my own discomfort. But seeing that discomfort, he’s quick to let it go, saying, “So, tel me—did you do it? Did you make it to the end of your journey? Did you find the tree you were looking for?”
“Yeah. I did,” I tel him, my voice growing hoarse as my mind fil s with the whole glorious sight of it. A vision I want him to see too and there’s only one way to do that. “Close your eyes,” I say, humbled by the speed with which he obeys. “And now open your mind.” I place my hands on either side of his face, my palms spanning the sharp planes of his cheekbones that appear even more pronounced with his newly shorn hair, my fingertips seeking the slight inward curve of his temples and pressing lightly against them. Projecting the whole wonderful y radiant scene from my mind to his, showing him the tree exactly as I remember it, in al of its abundance and glory.
“Wow,” he says, his voice like a sigh. “That must’ve been … something.” He looks at me, gaze deeply probing.
I nod, start to remove my hands from his face, only to have him press his palms hard against them, holding me in place.
“I should go.” I try to pul away, only to have him hold me even tighter, keep me right there before him.
“Ever…” His voice is thick, ragged, a tone I know wel .
My eyes graze over him, noting his freshly laundered T-shirt and jeans, the scent of soap, fresh air, and ocean that drifts from his skin
—and I know the effort was made for Honor, not me.
“Jude, are you happy?” I ask, fervently hoping he is, that the night star I made granted my wish, or at least that it wil soon.
He gives me a long look, one that lingers so long I’m sure he won’t answer when he final y drops his hands, shoves them deep into his pockets, and says, “I’m working on it.” He shrugs. “I think I’m getting closer. You?”
I start to shoot off some blithe and breezy reply, the kind you toss out when someone asks how you are but you know they’re not going to stick around for the answer, but then I stop just as quickly. Jude answered honestly, so the least I can do is answer honestly too.
Though it does take a moment to figure out just what that answer might be. I hadn’t real y considered my own state of happiness—or at least not for a while anyway.
Let’s see, I passed every test on my journey and seized my destiny, which makes me completely self-actualized in the deepest sense of the word, and yet, even after al that, there’s one thing that’s stil glaringly missing. Or, make that two things—one huge, one only slightly less huge. But after I leave here, I’l face those things too.
“Same here,” I final y say. “I’m working on it too.” Chasing the words with a flash of a grin. “But I think I’m making good progress, getting pretty dang close, anyway.”
I start to turn, start to head for my car, when he pul s me back to him and says, “Hey, Ever—”
I face him.
“Just so you know, you’ve got it al wrong.”
I narrow my gaze, having no idea what he means.
“That real y isn’t what I was doing al of those lives, or at least that’s only part of it. The other reason I was trying to keep you from Damen is because I wanted you al to myself. Stil do.” He shrugs, tries to laugh, but it’s not the funny kind. It’s far too resigned for that.
“Remember what you told me—the first day we met?”
I squint. I said a lot of things back then. In fact, I gave him one heck of a palm reading, told him al about his past—or at least his most immediate past.
“You told me I have a serious history of fal ing for al the wrong girls.”
Oh yeah. That.
“Turns out you were right.” There’s that laugh again, but this time it’s lighter, brighter, hinting at a promise of better days to come.
“Little did you know it was just one girl in particular—one girl over and over again. Little did you know it was you. ”
I gulp, my stomach going al twisty and weird.
“It’s always been you.” He shoots me a rueful grin.
I edge closer to my car, having no idea what to say, what to do, but that’s okay, because he cancels the awkwardness for me.
“So, what do you think of Honor?” he asks.
Our eyes meet and hold, until I manage to stammer, “For reals?”
He nods, swipes a hand over his head in the same way he used to back when his hair was long and twisty, only now there’s not much to latch onto and his arm fal s back to his side. “What did you tel me back then? If I’m fool enough to ask, then you’re fool enough to tel ?” He laughs, adding, “So yeah, what the heck? Have at it. What do you think of Honor? Or, better yet, what do you see for our future?
Do we even have a future?”
He offers his palm, wanting me to take it, to tel him al that I see. And I stand there before him, knowing al I have to do is lower my psychic shield, press my finger to his skin, and everything he wants to know, including stuff he most likely does not, wil be revealed.
I inch toward him, just about to do it, when I remember what Damen once said, and decide to quote him instead.
“Life is not meant to be an open-book test,” I say, turning back toward my car and driving away.
thirty-six
My next stop is Sabine’s.
I figure since it’s late on a Sunday afternoon there’s a good chance I’l find her at home.
Maybe even at home with Munoz.
And the closer I get to her street, the more I start hoping Munoz wil be there, if for no other reason than he seems to be on my side—
or at least for the most part. Which means he just might be able to help me convince her of the truth.
The startling, mind-blowing, world-rocking truth that proves everything she so vehemently denies is actual y real.
The truth she’l most likely fight like hel to refuse no matter how much evidence I put before her.
And even though I’m ful y prepared to pul out al the stops, do whatever’s required to make her believe (knowing that may require no less than a judge, a careful y selected twelve-man jury, and possibly even a handful of alternates thrown in for good measure), it’l stil be good to have Munoz around to help build my case.
You know, two against one.
Power in numbers.
That sort of thing.
I drive up to the gate, feeling even more guilty about my extra-long absence when I see the way the security guard looks at me, openly gawking as she does a triple take before waving me in. And when I pul into the driveway, see the way the yard has changed, having transitioned right out of a season I pretty much missed, and going headfirst into a new one I hope to stick around long enough to enjoy, the guilty feeling goes into overdrive.
Stil , that’s nothing compared to the way I feel when I stand at the door and ring the bel only to watch Sabine’s features tumble through a series of almost cartoonish expressions. Beginning with an initial reaction of surprised recognition, before making their way through utter shock, to complete and total disbelief, to a quick glint of hope, to absolute defiance, and then settling on grave concern when she takes in the sad and sorry state of my scuffed-up hiking boots, dirty jeans, and the filthy white tank top I keep forgetting to manifest myself out of.
“Where’ve you been?” she asks, her voice a strange combination of anger and curiosity, as her blue eyes continue the inventory.
“Trust me, you wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” I say, knowing the words are far truer than she could ever realize.
She folds he
r arms across her chest as her lips press together in a thin, grim line. Transitioning right back to her stern side, the one that’s al too easy to recognize, saying, “Try me.”
It’s the angry Sabine.
The self-righteous Sabine.
The Sabine who gave me the ultimatum that ultimately convinced me to leave.
I peer over her shoulder, knowing Munoz is here somewhere since I saw his silver Prius in the drive. Heaving a huge sigh of relief when I see him coming out of the den, his face pretty much exhibiting al the same expressions as hers, minus the defiance and grave concern, which I take as a good sign.
“I’d love to explain.” I fight to keep my voice calm, nonconfrontational, knowing the only way to get through to her is to keep the emotion at bay. “In fact, that’s why I’m here. I plan to tel you al about it. I want to tel you al about it. But it’s kind of involved, so I thought maybe I could come in and sit down and we can take it from there.”
Her cheeks flush in indignation. She can hardly believe my audacity. Expecting to be let in after showing up on her doorstep, completely unannounced, after months of no communication whatsoever. I can practical y hear the thoughts as they swirl through her head even though I promised myself I wouldn’t eavesdrop. Though it’s not like I need to eavesdrop when I can see the way her energy radiates al around her, flashing and sparking in a rising tide of anger.
Stil , she swings the door wide and motions me in, fol owing me into the den, where I claim one of the overstuffed chairs and watch as she and Munoz place themselves side by side on the couch that sits opposite.
“Would you like something to drink?” she asks, her voice stiff as she jumps to her feet once again. Unable to contain her own nervous energy, unsure how to handle my sudden presence, she goes straight into hostess mode, a role she knows wel .
“Water,” I say, seeing the way her brows draw together, knowing she’s unused to seeing me drink anything other than the elixir, not realizing it’s been around six months since my last sip. “Water would be great, thanks.” I edge back in my chair, crossing my legs at the ankle as she heads into the kitchen and Munoz settles back on the couch, his arms spread wide across the cushions in the comfortable, relaxed way of a man who’s ful y at home.