I look at her and Stacia, wondering when I’m ever going to get used to this new side of them. Despite their combined efforts to help me get to this point, every kind gesture they make stil comes as a great shock to me, and I know that’s not at al fair. They’re working so hard to improve the least I can do is let them.
Stacia cocks her head, waiting for me to respond, while Honor fidgets with her finger, twisting Jude’s malachite ring back and forth.
“Um, that’s real y sweet and al , but you guys don’t have to come. Real y.” I nod, hoping they won’t take it the wrong way, but I’m not sure I want them there. “I mean, I’m sure you have better things to do, better parties to go to, so…”
“Better than this party? Doubtful!” Stacia shoots me one of her old you’re crazy looks, then remembering she doesn’t do that anymore, she quickly clears her face. “Besides, we already have our costumes and everything!” She glances at Honor standing beside her, nodding in agreement. “After al we’ve done to help you graduate—you can’t disinvite us now!”
I gape, surprised she would say that since I don’t exactly remember ever inviting them. But then, I also wasn’t in charge of the invitations, the twins were. Nor did I know there’d be costumes. In fact, I have no idea how this happened, how they even know about it, how it got so blown out of proportion. I mean, original y, this was just supposed to be a nice smal gathering. Immortals only. I had no idea it’d turned into the grad night to end al grad nights. The year’s most anticipated event.
“I worked real y, real y hard on my costume,” Stacia says, her voice accusing. “So no way wil you keep me from wearing it.
Everyone’s gonna flip when they see it!”
“Jude’s is a surprise,” Honor says. “Though he says it won’t be a surprise to you, since you’ve already seen it.” She looks at me in a way that lets me know she pretty much knows everything there is to know about Jude and me and stil isn’t sure how she feels about it.
“But I’ve got a little surprise of my own. Something Romy and Rayne helped me come up with; I’m pretty excited about it. Trust me, Ever, this party is going to be epic. And you’re crazy if you think either one of us would miss it!”
Costumes?
Epic?
And here I thought it was all about convincing a bunch of eternals to eat the fruit.
“You saw the invites, right?” Stacia asks, her eyes moving over me.
I shake my head, realizing too late that I didn’t. Al I saw was the pink-and-black envelope I left near the pond. It never occurred to me to peek inside. I’ve been so overwhelmed with al the catching up I had to do to get to this point that I never thought to ask questions. I never offered to pitch in with the planning, or even inquired into how it was going. Everyone seemed so happy to take over that I happily left it to them. Thinking that al I had to do was to show up on time with the fruit—but now apparently I need a costume too.
“Okay, wel , just so you know, it’s a ‘Come As You Were’ party. You know, like who you were in a past life?” Stacia says. “And just so you know, we’re going, whether you like it or not.” She shoots me a chal enging look, the kind that reminds me of the old days, back when I first got here and she went after me in the most relentless way.
The only difference is, unlike back then, this time I deserve it. She’s worked pretty hard to help me turn things around, giving generously of her time, the least I could do is acknowledge her efforts and the long way she’s come.
“Is it stil at Ava’s?” I ask, wondering how we’re al going to fit into her snug little bungalow now that the guest list has multiplied.
“No.” Miles grins, stopping beside Honor and inserting himself into the conversation. “It’s at your house. And trust me, Sabine and Munoz are going al out—no expense spared. It’s total y gonna outdo that Hal oween party of yours.” He nods. “So if I were you, I’d get myself home and manifest a good costume like, pronto, because the party starts at seven.”
forty
For once, Miles didn’t exaggerate. Sabine and Munoz real y did go above and beyond with the decorations.
From the moment we pul into the drive, al I can do is gape in astonishment at how they’ve taken this semicustom, faux Tuscan McMansion and turned it into something that looks like it’s straight out of the old country.
“Wait ’til you see the inside!” Sabine’s eyes light on mine. “I know you wanted a smal gathering, but I thought it might be nice to throw a big party with al of your friends. You’ve worked so hard, Ever. You deserve a little fun, and, quite frankly, so do Paul and I!”
When she leads me into the house with Munoz hot on our trail, wel , let’s just say that if the outside was astonishing, then the inside is amazing.
“Again, just the beginning,” Munoz says, face widening into a grin. “Each room has its own theme.”
“How did you—?” I start to ask how they managed it al without my even being aware, but then I see—there are decorators, caterers, bartenders, al manner of helpers roaming the place. This isn’t just a party. It’s a huge high school graduation blowout bash.
“There’s a lot to celebrate,” Sabine says. “So we figured we’d go al out. Think of it as a welcome home slash happy graduation slash engagement party. Oh, and we haven’t had a chance to tel you yet, but a major publisher just made an offer to buy Paul’s book—so it’s a book deal party too!” She gazes up at him, her face flushed with the pride of his success, and I take a moment to steal a quick glance at him too, catching his smile and wink, and knowing he’s remembering the day when I prophesized that very thing. “We’re expecting a lot of people, I hope you don’t mind. I know it’s not at al what you’d planned, but we thought it might be fun. Miles came up with the theme and it just took off from there.”
I nod, trying to match her smile with one of my own, but al I can think about is the fruit—the real reason behind this get-together—and how it’s pretty clear that’s been lost along the way.
But just as soon as I’ve thought it, Sabine looks at me and says, “Don’t worry, it’s covered. I’ve left the den off your bedroom free for you to do whatever you need. I just hope you’l take a little time out to enjoy yourself as wel .”
I look at her, unsure what to say. I never expected anything even remotely like this, and I’m left feeling a little overwhelmed.
But Sabine just places her hand on my shoulder and says, “Now go. Go upstairs and manifest yourself a costume while Paul and I get into ours. Just make sure you’re ready by seven to greet everyone.”
I do as she says. It’s easier that way. After tackling the stairs I head straight for my room, where I plop myself onto my bed, feeling more than a little stunned by it al . Remembering the very first day I arrived, when Sabine picked me up at the airport and drove me to my new home, my new life. I was so lost in my grief I couldn’t appreciate al the trouble she’d gone to in an effort to make my life comfortable. Al I could do was throw myself facedown and cry—or at least until Riley appeared and set me straight, made me see things through her eyes.
Riley.
I close my eyes, attempting to ward off the sting, the tears, and the lumpy throat that always accompany any and al thoughts of her.
Though I’m surprised by how fleeting it is—the symptoms here and gone in a matter of seconds. And I know it’s because of the fruit.
Even though I stil miss her, even though I long to see her again—now, for the first time in a long time, I know for a fact that I wil . And knowing that goes a long way in lessening the pain of missing her, of missing al of them, Buttercup included.
With just one taste of that fruit my body wil cease to be immortal. It’l revert right back to the usual procession of aging and withering until it ultimately dies and my soul reverts back to its true eternal, infinite state—free to cross the bridge to where my family now lives.
No matter what becomes of me, my soul wil live on, al owing my family and me to be reunited again.
&
nbsp; I just hope Damen and I wil be reunited too.
I just hope I can find a way to convince him of what we both need to do.
But first, I need to come up with some kind of “Come As You Were” costume, and for someone with seven previous lives to choose from, you’d think the choice would be easy.
I mean, should I go as Adelina—the life I just learned about? Evaline—the Parisian servant? Abigail—the daughter of a Puritan?
Chloe—the spoiled young socialite? Fleur—the artist’s muse? Emala—the sad little slave girl?
Or should I go as al of them?
Find a way to stitch together al of the pieces of my various lives, like a sort of karma quilt, if you wil ?
I ponder for a while, liking the concept, but having no idea how I might go about it, and then, just like that, I know exactly what I’l do.
I glance at my bedside clock, seeing I have very little time and some serious manifesting magick to get to. So I jump to my feet and get started, hoping it’l turn out just like the image I hold in my head.
Hoping it’l serve as more than just a costume. That it’l provide the evidence, al the proof that I’l need.
forty-one
When I’m finished, I stand before the mirror and take inventory. Going over my mental checklist and making sure everything is present and accounted for. Hearing Damen’s voice in my head, the exact words he used when he explained it to me—assuring me that every piece, from my fiery red hair to my elaborate dress, from my flirtatious gaze to my inner strength and humility, found its origins in the past, while my eyes themselves remain unchanged, eternal, no matter what guise my soul decides to wear. And knowing I’ve come as close as I can to replicating the painting he made (including a few new references to Emala and Adelina, whom I didn’t know about then), until I remember one last thing. One last thing I’m not sure I can go through with.
The gossamer wings.
The moment I manifest them onto my back, I feel sil y.
Sil y and embarrassed and, wel , a tiny bit mortified.
There’s no way I can face my guests like this. They won’t understand. They’l take it the wrong way. Think that I think I’m so special I’ve actual y descended from angels in order to walk among them. When nothing could be further from the truth.
I press my lips together, about to close my eyes and make them disappear, when I remember that I’m not doing it for them. I’m doing it for Damen. Wel , for Damen and me.
The night he painted my portrait in the Getty Museum he claimed they were there—claimed he alone could see them. Claimed that just because I couldn’t see them didn’t mean they weren’t real. And while I’m sure no one wil understand what I’m up to, al that matters is that Damen does. That the sight of my costume wil help to convince him of what we must do.
I just hope that he stil sees me this way.
I just hope that I’m not trying to reclaim something that no longer exists.
I fool with my hair, unused to seeing myself as a redhead other than when I’m in the pavilion as Fleur, but liking the change in this life as wel . Then running my hands over my long, filmy gown, I take one final look and head out the door before I lose al my nerve.
The ful effects of what Sabine and Munoz and their talented team of decorators envisioned, now realized. Making me feel as though I’m drifting into a magical, mystical world, taking a trip back in time, noting how each room differs from the next, and yet al of it’s themed to the very last detail.
The kitchen is ancient Greece, the den is the Italian Renaissance, the powder room the Middle Ages (except the sink and toilet both work!), the dining room the Dark Ages, the living room harks back to Victorian times, while the backyard is pure 1960’s—and as the house begins to fil with lots and lots of costumed people, I’m pretty amazed by what a fun idea it turned out to be.
So far, the party just started and yet al the usual past-life favorites are already present and accounted for. Cleopatra is mingling not just with Marc Antony, but also with Marie Antoinette, and Joan of Arc, and Janis Joplin, and Alexander the Great, and Napoleon, and Einstein, along with some guy in a robe with a long wispy mustache and beard who I think is meant to be Confucius, and someone with a long gray beard who keeps shouting out prophecies who I think is meant to be Nostradamus, and I can’t help but think how funny it is how everyone always assumes they were someone famous. No one ever imagines themselves as having been a chambermaid or a slave like I was.
Miles finds me first, walking hand in hand with Holt. And before I can even ask, he points to himself and says, “Leonardo da Vinci.
Gorgeous, gifted, and total y and completely genius—makes perfect sense, right?”
I nod in agreement, narrowing my gaze on Holt, taking in his shock of silver hair and severe black turtleneck, and saying, “Okay, you’re either Andy Warhol or Albert Einstein—”
But before he can answer, Stacia appears as Marilyn Monroe (big surprise), alongside Honor, who’s dressed as Pocahontas (which real y is a big surprise).
“Wow, great costumes.” I nod at each of them.
Stacia runs her hands over her white halter dress, as Honor swings her long black braids and says, “Okay, I wasn’t exactly Pocahontas, but I did see a life as a Native American.”
I squint, wondering if that means she made it to Summerland.
But she’s quick to correct it when she says, “Romy and Rayne hypnotized me.”
My gaze narrows further. I have no idea what she’s talking about.
“You know, they did a past-life regression on me. They’re pretty good; we’re talking about offering them at the store, with Ava’s help of course.”
“Wow.” I squint. “I had no idea.” And I can’t help but feel a little bit bummed about al that I missed, how easily they moved on without me. Then I shake my head, clear the thought from my mind and look right at Miles, and say, “So, did you get hypnotized too? Does this mean you real y were Leonardo da Vinci?”
But just as he’s about to answer, Jude, who came as the artist otherwise known (wel , otherwise known to me anyway) as Bastiaan de Kool, stops right before me. Taking his time taking me in as he tries to make sense of my costume. Studying me for so long I can’t help but squirm. Can’t help but feel nervous and uncomfortable enough to sneak a quick peek at Honor, knowing she won’t be thril ed with al this attention.
“I get it,” he says, eyes stil narrowed. “You’ve taken a piece from each of them.” He shakes his head in wonder, his gaze traveling over me again when he adds, “What a great idea. Wish I’d thought of it.”
“Wish I’d thought of it too.” I glance across the room, waving at Sabine and Munoz, who are dressed as a Viking princess and Wil iam Shakespeare respectively, then back to Jude when I add, “It was Damen’s idea.”
“Is he here?” Stacia asks, her cheeks flushing crimson when she realizes how I might take that, how after al that we’ve been through I could easily misinterpret her interest. “I mean, not that I care.” She pauses, realizes that might’ve sounded even worse, and hastily adds,
“I mean, I care—I just don’t care in the way that you, um, think that I care.”
I place my hand on her arm, wanting to comfort, tel her it’s okay, only to be overcome by a rush of energy so strong I feel like I’m caught in the eye of her own personal tornado. And though I’m quick to pul away, it’s not long before I realize it wasn’t al bad. If anything, I got an inside peek at just how far she’s come, and how she sincerely meant what she said.
I look at her, trying to sound more positive than I feel when I say, “Honestly? I have no idea if he’l show, but I’m hopeful.”
Ava waves at me from across the room, beckoning me to join her in the den, where she’s dressed as John Lennon, standing next to Rayne, who’s dressed in the pil box hat, pristine white gloves, perfect little suit, and flippy hairdo of Jackie O, while Romy is dressed as Jimi Hendrix, complete with an electric guitar strapped to her chest. Which is total y t
he opposite of what I would’ve thought, but then, even after al this time I’ve never real y been able to get a good handle on them.
And I’m just about to thank them for doing such a great job, and for al the help they’ve provided this last year, when someone sneaks up from behind me and says, “And so it is done.”
I turn, instantly recognizing the voice.
She looks older. So delicate and frail I can’t help but worry for her health. The cane I once saw her with is now back. Though it’s not long before I realize why—it’s the first time I’ve seen her on the earth plane. And after spending so much time in Summerland, the gravity here starts to weigh pretty heavily.
“From the moment I first saw your glow, I knew.”
I look at her, noticing she’s the only one not in costume, and yet, in her cotton tunic and matching pants, most people probably assume that she is.
“But I don’t glow,” I say, my eyes stil poring over her, realizing how odd she appears now that she’s here. How out of context she seems. “I don’t have an aura,” I add. “No immortals do.”
But she ignores that. “Auras are a reflection of the soul,” she says. “And yours is lovely. You have been made aware of its presence, caught a glimpse of it, no?”
I gaze down at my hands, remember the way I saw them glow a gorgeous shade of purple back when I was in Summerland, back when I was stil on my journey. I remember the way I’d felt the color thrumming from somewhere deep inside—the intensity of feeling convincing me of just how to proceed. Then I remember how Drina saw it too, how she’d commented on it just after I’d freed her soul from the Shadowland, and now Lotus sees it as wel . Which makes me wonder if it might actual y be real, and if it’l stil be with me even after I’ve tasted the fruit?
Which of course gets me thinking about Damen, wondering if he’l agree to taste the fruit with me.
“He needs time,” Lotus says, tuning in to my thoughts. “Unlike me. I have waited too long.”