“If nothing else, the Shadowland has assured me of that. You were there, Ever, twice if I remember—the first time, through me, and more recently, because of Haven. So tel me, can you deny what I’ve said? Can you deny that it’s true?”
I take a deep breath, thinking about that horrible day when Haven slammed her fist right into my throat. Right into the sweet spot—my fifth chakra—the center for a lack of discernment, misuse of information, and trusting al the wrong people. One solid punch was al it took to kil me, to end me, to send me crashing, reeling, spinning into that horrible dark oblivion. The abyss. The home for immortals’
souls. Remembering how I’d swirled through the blackness, lost in the void, taunted by a never-ending stream of images of al my past lives. Forced to relive the mistakes that I’d made, al the misguided decisions, the wrongs I’d committed—feeling others’ pain as intensely as my own. Finding my way out only when the truth was final y revealed. Spared from an eternity of deep isolation when I was left with no doubt in my mind that Damen was The One.
My soul mate.
My one and only for al of eternity.
The sudden revelation along with my complete and total declaration, acknowledging the truth of Damen and me, of our love, is the only thing that healed me, absolved me.
The only thing that freed me of the burden of my weak chakra.
The only reason I’m sitting here now.
I nod, having nothing to add. He knows what I saw, what I experienced, just as clearly as if he were there.
“It’s just you and me, Ever. We have only each other. A prospect that may be more appealing to me than you, but only because I’ve grown used to a lone wolf existence.”
“We have Miles,” I say, quick to remind Damen how he’s now in on our immortal secret. “And Jude.” My breath stal s, stil feeling a little weird about mentioning him in Damen’s presence, despite them recently deciding to bury the past and start fresh. “So, it’s not like we’re total y without friends, right?”
But he just shrugs, reflecting on the part I failed to mention, the part that’s too painful to utter. The fact that someday, Miles and Jude wil be old and gray-haired, eating early-bird dinners and looking forward to a rousing game of shuffleboard, while Damen and I wil be exactly the same, completely unchanged.
“I guess I just hate to see you and Sabine end it this way,” he final y says, gaze like an unexpressed sigh. “But maybe you’re right, maybe it’s as good a way as any. Seeing that it’s inevitable and al .”
I toss the pil ow aside and reach for him. I hate when he goes dark like this, when his thoughts turn inward and he starts blaming himself. I’l do anything to change the subject, to erase it completely. But he’s already turned, missing the gesture, so I drop my arm back to my side and pick at the comforter.
“Okay, so, barring a sit-down powwow with Sabine, what else did you have in mind? You know, for our winter break?” I ask, hoping to chase this dark cloud away.
It takes him a moment to respond, to lift himself above the despair. But when he does, it’s so worth it. The smile that lights up his face instantly brightens what once had the makings of a dark, dreary day.
“Wel , I was thinking we could do something spontaneous, maybe even a little bit crazy. I was thinking we could actual y try having a little fun for a change. You remember fun, don’t you?”
“Vaguely.” I nod, a wil ing player in this particular game.
“I thought we could take a vacation somewhere…” He shoots me a sly, mysterious look before padding toward the cream-colored leather chaise at the opposite side of the room. Reaching for the dark silk robe he’d abandoned along the arm sometime last night and quickly slipping it on. His body moving so fluidly it’s as though he melted right into it.
I study him careful y, wondering if he’d sincerely been planning something like that al along, or if he’s just trying to entice me with a plan he made up on the fly.
“But…” He pauses, securing the sash in a way that leaves it dipping low against his hips, the robe hanging open and loose, al owing for a wide swath of bare chest and defined abs to remain on display.
I slide my back up the headboard while lifting the sheet to my chin—his state of near nakedness making me extremely aware of my own. Stil not used to living as a couple, living so intimately, the morning always leaves me feeling more than a little shy and inhibited.
“Ever, I know how eager you are to get right to the bottom of al the things that are bothering you. And, like I said last night, I’m wil ing to help…”
I look at him, bracing myself for the ful -on brunt of his honed and polished negotiation skil s. I can practical y see the case he builds in his eyes.
“So, I’m wil ing to give it one week. I’l give you one ful week of my nonstop, undivided, crazy-old-lady-code-cracking attention, and then, when that week is up, if we haven’t gotten anywhere, wel , al I ask is that you accept the defeat graciously so we can move on to my much better, much brighter, much funner plan. What do you say?”
I gnaw at the inside of my cheek, taking a moment to gather my reply. “Wel , I say that depends.”
He looks at me, shifting in a way that loosens the robe ever so slightly. Expanding the view. Not playing fair.
“Depends on this plan of yours.” I keep my gaze fixed on his eyes. “I need to know what I’m getting into—where you’re planning to take me. I can’t just blindly agree to any ol’ thing. I have my standards, you know.” I look away, look down at my hands, refusing the sight of him, the whole glorious bounty of him, and choose to focus on my cuticles instead.
Hearing him laugh in reply, the sound of it like a deep, joyous roar that fil s up the room, fil s up my heart. Happy to know that the dark moment from a moment ago is forgotten for now.
Turning and making his way into the bath, the words drifting over his shoulder when he says, “A vacation. Just you and me and some glorious exotic location. A right and proper vacation, Ever. Far from everyone, and everything. A vacation in a place of my choosing.
That’s al you need to agree to. Leave the details to me.”
I smile to myself, loving the sound of that and the images it spurs in my mind, but I’m not about to reveal that, so to him I just say, “We’l see.” The words drowned out by the sound of gushing water coming from his oversized shower. “We’l see about that,” I whisper, tempted to join him, knowing that’s exactly what he wants, but with only a week to crack the code, I head for his laptop instead.
four
“Find anything?” Damen rubs a towel against his wet hair, ridding it of excess water before tossing it aside in favor of a quick comb-through with his fingers.
I push away from his desk and swivel a few inches toward him, rol ing the chair back and forth and from side to side as I say, “I ran several searches—ran those numbers she mentioned, thinking it might be a date, or a code, or a link to an important passage, or hymn, or a psalm, or a poem, or … something.” I shrug. “I even ran that name she mentioned, Adelina. But nothing came up. So then I ran a search on the numbers and the name together, but stil nothing. Or at least nothing that seems even remotely connected to us, anyway.”
He nods, disappears into his walk-in closet for a moment, then reappears wearing a clean pair of jeans and a black wool sweater.
While I opt for the far easier, somewhat lazy approach of manifesting my own set of clothes, which turn out to be pretty similar.
Except that my sweater is blue. He likes me in blue. Brings out the blue in my eyes, he says.
“So, where do we start?” He lowers himself onto the chaise and slides on some shoes—black TOMS slip-ons, one of the few things he actual y buys anymore—but only because part of the proceeds go to charity.
Gone are the handcrafted Italian leather motorcycle boots he wore when we met. It’s now cheap rubber flip-flops in the summer, TOMS in the winter. Aside from his opulent, oversized, multimil ion-dol ar mansion, and the shiny, black, ful y loaded
BMW M6 Coupe that sits in the garage (a car I pretty much forced him to re-manifest and keep), his somewhat recent vow to live simpler, less flamboyantly, more conscientiously, and less materialistical y appears to be one he plans to keep.
“For the next week, I’m al yours.” He rises to his feet, taking a moment to shake out each leg and settle the hems of his jeans.
“Only for the next week?” I stand before the framed ful -length mirror that leans against the wal , trying to convince my hair to do something other than just lie flat against my head. But after manifesting some curls and waves that don’t real y do it for me, I return it to the way it was and settle on a low loose ponytail.
“While you and I have no expiration date, this little project of yours does—as you clearly agreed. So, tel me, where do we start?” He looks at me, awaits further instruction on how to proceed.
I check out my profile, smoothing my hands over the stray wisps of hair that insist on springing out from the sides, thinking I should try something else, that I’m not quite pleased with the reflection that stares back, when I take a deep breath and force myself to accept it.
Whenever I look at me, al I see are things I’d like to change.
Whenever Damen looks at me, al he sees is a glorious gift from the universe.
Somewhere in the middle lies the truth.
“C’mon.” I turn away from me in favor of him, knowing we have no time to waste, that a busy week, a week like I’ve planned, can feel like only a minute or two when it’s al said and done.
Grasping his hand in mine, we stand side by side, the two of us envisioning that soft golden veil of shimmering light, the one that leads us to Summerland.
We skip the vast fragrant field of glistening flowers and pulsating trees, choosing to land at the foot of the broad swath of steps that leads right up to the Great Hal s of Learning. Pausing a moment, our thoughts silenced, eyes wide, looking upon it with such awe our breath halts right in our throats.
Taking in its beautiful elaborate carvings, its grand sloping roof, its imposing columns, its impressive front doors—al of its vast and varied parts rapidly shifting, conjuring images of the Great Pyramids of Giza morphing into the Lotus Temple, which transforms into the Taj Mahal, and so on. The building reshaping, reforming, until the world’s greatest wonders are represented in its ever-changing façade.
Admitting only those who can see it for what it truly is—an awe-inspiring place created of love, and knowledge, and everything good.
The doors spring open before us, and we hurry up the stairs and into the large spacious entry fil ed with the most bril iant warm light—
a luminous showering radiance that, like the rest of Summerland, permeates every nook and cranny, every corner, every space, al owing for no shadows or dark spots (except for the ones of my making) and doesn’t seem to emanate from any one place.
We move among white marble columns that appear to have been lifted right out of ancient Greek times, along multiple rows of long, carved wooden tables and benches crowded with priests, rabbis, shamans, seekers of every kind, including: Jude?
The moment his name appears in my mind, he lifts his head and looks right at me. Thoughts are things, consisting of energy of the purest kind, and here in Summerland they can be heard by just about anybody.
“Ever…” He lifts a hand to his forehead, smoothing the area just above his spliced brow before moving to the tangle of long bronze dreadlocks he pushes away from his face. “And Damen…” His expression remains inscrutable, unreadable, though it’s clear he’s working pretty hard to keep it that way.
He rises from his seat, a little reluctantly to my eye. But when Damen moves toward him with a grin that lights up his face, Jude does his best to match it with one of his own, al owing his dimples to spring into place.
I stay put, watching the two of them engage in the usual palm-smacking, back-slapping, male-greeting ritual. Trying to read the meaning behind Jude’s reddened cheeks, not to mention the flash of chagrin in his aqua-green gaze.
I mean, even though he and Damen have cal ed a truce, even though he’s now in on pretty much al of our biggest secrets and has no plans to spil them, even though I’m absolutely certain that his uncanny ability to thwart al my best plans is not at al calculated on his part, but that something else, some higher force, is driving him to do it, to always interfere at the absolute worst time possible—I can’t stop from hesitating, can’t overcome my reluctance to greet him.
But it only takes a moment for me to recognize that hesitation for what it real y is.
Guilt.
Good old-fashioned guilt.
No more, no less.
The kind of guilt that comes from sharing a long, somewhat convoluted, and at times quite romantic past with someone, and yet, in the end, always choosing someone else.
No matter how hard Jude tried, I always chose Damen over him. And just very recently, I’ve done so again.
Yet despite my knowing I made the best choice, the right choice, the only choice, despite my instinctively knowing there’s someone else out there, someone who’s much better suited for him than me, Jude doesn’t quite see it that way.
He glances back and forth between us, his gaze ultimately settling on mine in a way that causes an unmistakable wave of cool, languid calm to flow through my body—a phenomenon I’ve experienced only with him, in this life as wel as the others before it. And try as he might to stay distant and neutral, it’s impossible to miss the flash of longing that plays in his gaze—a smal seed of hope he stil isn’t free of. Even though it’s over in a second, even though he’s quick to replace it with something else, something containing far less ache, something far more benign, I take a moment to manifest a bright shining night star over his head, wishing once again that he’l soon find the one person in the universe who’s meant just for him, who’s far better suited than I could ever be.
Then I make it disappear before they can see it.
“What brings you here?” I force a smile onto my face and keep it there until it starts to feel real.
He shuffles, rocks back and forth on his heels as his hands fumble at the loops of his jeans. Sorting through his thoughts, careful y weighing his options, deciding between complete or partial honesty, and going with complete when he says, “I just like it here. I can’t help it. Though Ava warns me not to overdo it, I just can’t seem to stay away.”
“Summerland is like that.” Damen nods, as though he completely understands, as though he’s actual y struggled with the same temptation himself. And who knows, maybe he has and we just haven’t gotten around to covering that. “The lure is pretty great,” he adds.
“It’s a chore to ignore.”
“Are you researching anything in particular?” I strive to keep my voice light, conversational, despite rising up on my toes trying to get a glimpse of the tablet he was studying when we came in. But he’s too smart for that, and is quick to erase it the moment he sees what I’m doing.
Which is why I’m so shocked when he says, “Honestly, I was doing a little research on you.” His eyes burn on mine, causing Damen’s to narrow, trying to determine just what that meant. I glance back and forth between them, scrambling for something to say, but Jude beats me to it. “I was trying to figure out why I always seem to get in your way.”
I pause, my throat gone suddenly dry, forcing me to clear it before I can speak. “And did you come to any conclusions?” I ask, pretty much everything about me, my voice, my stance, my expression, my demeanor, projecting loud and clear that my interest in this subject knows virtual y no limits.
He shakes his head, his face wearing an apology words can’t express. “No, or at least nothing concrete,” he says.
My shoulders sink, as a sigh escapes my lips, and I can’t help but think how nice it would’ve been if Jude could’ve done al of my homework for me, but it’s never that easy.
“Though there was something…”
He’s got my ful attentio
n again, Damen’s too from what I can tel .
“It’s not anything that I saw per se, it was more a thought that kept coming to me. One I couldn’t chase away.”
“That’s how Summerland works.” I nod, a little too vigorously. “Or at least the Great Hal s anyway. It’s not always concrete, you know.
It’s not always something you read or experience. Sometimes it’s just a persistent thought that refuses to leave until you pay it some notice.”
He nods, curls his thumbs around his belt loops and glances toward Damen and me. “Anyway, while I know this’l probably sound judgmental, I think you know by now that I don’t real y mean it that way, but, wel , I can’t help thinking that al of your problems, al of your … obstacles … wel … I can’t help but think they al stem from your immortality.”
He sneaks a quick peek at Damen, and I do the same. Both of us knowing Damen’s responsible for the state that we’re in—both of us knowing he’s al too aware of that.
“What I mean is, your whole thing with the elixir, and, wel , whatever else is required, it’s not like I’m up on the details, but stil , my point is, it’s just not natural, you know? We’re not supposed to reach physical immortality—that’s what the soul is for. The soul is the immortal part of us. It recycles, over and over again from what I’ve seen, but it never dies. We’re meant to strive beyond the physical world, not …
not settle for it and only it…” He winces, but now that he’s started, he knows he has no choice but to finish. Besides, it’s not like we can’t hear it in his head, hear the words reeling toward us as he says, “You’re not supposed to embrace the physical world as though it’s the last stop—as though that’s al there is.”
I fal quiet. Damen does too. Both of us marveling at how Jude’s words provide an al -too-familiar, somewhat eerie echo of what Damen said a little earlier back in his room.