I had no idea I could do this. No idea I could wil ful y reduce myself to an onlooker. Had no idea such a thing was even possible.
But while I’m standing here gawking at the wonder of it al , Damen remains completely oblivious. Too caught up to notice. Too immersed in the moment to realize that the girl he tries his best to unwrap is now, wel , unoccupied for lack of a better word.
“Damen,” I whisper, though he fails to turn, fails to realize she’s just an empty, soul ess shel . “Damen,” I repeat, a bit harsher this time, but sheesh, enough already. It’s like watching your boyfriend make out with someone else, even though that someone else used to be you. But stil , it’s too weird for comfort. It’s freaking me out.
He pul s away grudgingly, reluctantly, turning to me with a look that can only be described as complete and utter confusion. A deep crimson creeping from his neck to his cheeks when he realizes he’s just spent the last several seconds engaged in the Summerland equivalent of a pre-teen girl practicing kissing on a pil ow.
His eyes dart between us—between the moving, living, breathing, real version of me standing before him, and the unoccupied and therefore somewhat translucent version of Fleur at his side. And while she’s stil about as al uring as it gets, her current state of suspended animation with her eyes al squinty, lips al puckered, hair al askew, wel , I can’t help but laugh, realizing he doesn’t see it quite in the way that I do when he fails to laugh too.
“What’s going on?” Damen frowns, readjusting the loose cotton shirt he wore in that time.
“I’m sorry—I just…” I look around, doing my best to smother the laugh, knowing he’s embarrassed enough as it is. “I guess I just…” I shrug and start again. “Wel , I’m not exactly sure what happened. It’s like, one minute I was going through the motions and the next I was so frustrated with her for pushing you away my frustration propel ed me right out of the scene, right out of her.”
“And how long ago was that? How long have you been standing there watching?” he asks, when what he’s real y wondering is just how embarrassed he should be.
“Not long. Real y.” I nod vigorously in hopes he’l believe me.
He nods too, obviously relieved, his color returning to normal as he reaches for me.
“I’m sorry, Ever. I real y, truly am. Everything I’ve tried so far has failed. I can’t seem to determine Roman’s antidote no matter how hard I try.” He gazes at me with a face ful of defeat. “And until I can come up with some other option, something I haven’t yet tried, wel , I’m afraid this is as good as it gets for us. But if it’s becoming a source of frustration, then maybe we should stop coming here—or at least for a while anyway?”
“No!” I look at him, shaking my head, that’s not at al what I meant, not in the least. “No, no, that’s…” I’m quick to wave it away. “It’s not like I wasn’t caught up in the moment too, because I was. I was enjoying her flirtatious game just as much as you were. And, trust me, I’m as surprised as you that this happened. I mean, while I’ve definitely had the occasional thought that seemed out of character, this is the first time one of those thoughts has knocked me right out of character. I didn’t even know this was possible— did you? ”
He looks at me and shrugs, always too caught up in the moment to have even bothered with thinking about it.
“But stil , now that we’re here…” I pause, wondering if I should real y go through with this, then deciding I have nothing to lose. “Wel , there is a point I wanted to make, something that recently came to me.”
He waits, waits for me to stop with the prefacing and get to it already.
I press my lips together and gaze al around, trying to organize my thoughts, gather just the right words. I hadn’t actual y planned on broaching it, had no intention of going there, and yet, that’s not enough to stop me from turning to him, the words rushing forth when I say, “I’ve been thinking—okay, I’m not sure how to say this, but, you know how every time we come here we choose between my lives?”
Damen nods patiently, though his gaze betrays just the opposite.
“Wel , there’s a part of me that can’t help thinking: Why do we always choose between my lives? What if being Damen Augustus Notte Esposito wasn’t your first life?”
He doesn’t gape, doesn’t gawk, doesn’t flinch, shuffle, fumble, or mumble or any of the nervous little time-stal ing maneuvers I would’ve gladly bet my money on.
Nope, he just continues to stand there, his face a complete blank, devoid of expression, as though he has no thoughts on the idea I just raised. Looking as though I’d just spoken in one of the few languages he’s not quite proficient in.
“Right before you got here, I used the remote to punch in the numbers—you know, eight, eight, thirteen, oh, eight? I though it might be an important date or something—a time when we both lived before. And even though nothing happened, stil , I can’t help thinking it’s a very real possibility. I mean, we both know I lived as a Parisian servant named Evaline, right? And a Puritan’s daughter named Abigail; a spoiled London socialite, Chloe; the artist’s muse,” I point directly at her, “Fleur; and the young slave girl, Emala—but what if you weren’t always Damen? What if you were once, a long time ago, a very long time ago, someone else entirely?”
What if you reincarnated too?
Leaving that last bit unspoken but knowing he heard it just the same. The words swirling al around us in a way that can’t be ignored, even though it becomes immediately clear that Damen has every intention of doing just that.
His stiff shoulders and shadowed gaze are pretty much polar opposites of my glowing face and thrumming body. And try as I might to temper it, it’s no use. I’m so overcome with the excitement of this new idea—this perhaps undiscovered possibility—that I can practical y feel the energy shimmering around me. And if I had an aura, no immortals do, but if I did have one, I’m pretty sure it would be shining the most beautiful, bril iant purple flecked with lots and lots of sparkly gold bits, because that’s exactly how I feel.
It’s how I know that I’m right.
But, apparently I’m the only one feeling it. Which means I watch in jaw-dropping dismay as Damen turns and leaves me in a field of blazing red tulips without a single parting word.
I pop out of Summerland and appear back at the house, finding Damen looking visibly deflated as he slumps on the couch.
I glance down at myself, noticing how the flimsy slip of silk is instantly replaced with the jeans and blue sweater from before, just as Damen’s flowy white shirt and black pants are traded for the clothes he chose this morning.
But even though his clothes are transformed, his mood, unfortunately, is not. And as I survey his face, searching for a hint of kindness, an opening of some kind, I get nothing more than a stony gaze in return. So I head for a nearby wal and park myself there, vowing to lean against it for however long it takes for him to make the next move. Unsure what angers him more—my breaking free of the scene, or the idea that he might’ve lived before. But whichever it is, it’s obviously unleashed some kind of inner demon of his.
“I thought we’d moved past this,” he final y says, his gaze landing on mine but only briefly before he’s pacing again. “I thought you were ready to move on and have a little fun. I thought you realized you weren’t getting anywhere, that you were wrong about Summerland, the dark dreary part of it, the old lady— all of it. I thought you just wanted to make a stop in the pavilion so we could have a little past-life fun before we headed off on vacation. Then the minute we final y start to have a good time, you change your mind. What can I say? I’m a little disappointed, Ever. Truly.”
I wrap my arms around myself, as though they’l ward off his words. It’s not like I was trying to disappoint him; that wasn’t at al what I intended. Stil , I just can’t shake the idea that unraveling the old woman’s riddle wil lead to a happier, brighter future for us. Which is al I real y want, and I know that’s al he real y wants too—despite the downer
mood that he’s in.
But I don’t say any of that. Mostly because Damen—my soul mate—the love of my lives—is always the one I can count on to diffuse my emotional land mines wel before they have a chance to explode in our faces. So the least I can do is return the favor.
He looks at me, stil clearly unhappy. So I keep my voice purposely soft and mel ow, relaxing my body and holding my hands out before me, fingers splayed, palms open in a gesture of peace when I say, “Are you upset because I stopped the scene and popped out of character? Or are you upset because I insinuated you might’ve lived before, as somebody else? Or—or both? And if it’s both, which is upsetting you more?”
I wait for him to respond. Braced for the worst, braced to hear just about anything at this point, and yet stil taken by surprise when he says, “This whole thing is ridiculous. I mean, a previous life? Ever, please. I’ve been around for over six hundred years already, doesn’t that seem long enough to you?”
“O— kay…” I drag out the word, intent on making my point, but knowing I need to tread careful y, this whole subject has clearly hit a nerve. “And I’ve popped in and out of existence for four hundred years … that we know of.” I nod, knowing it’s sure to upset him but it has to be said.
“That you know of?” He looks at me, choosing to take that personal y. “You think there’s more that I’m hiding from you? Another slave life perhaps?”
“No.” I shake my head, quick to refute it, wanting desperately to diffuse it. “No, not at al . I was actual y thinking more along the lines of there being other lives that—that we’re not aware of. I mean, Damen, seriously, you’ve got to at least admit the possibility. I mean, what? You think the world just sprang up al around you the day you came into the world as Damen Augustus Notte? You think you were some newly hatched soul with no past? No karma to pay off?”
His brows draw together as his eyes grow dark, but his voice remains calm, even, when he says, “I’m sorry, Ever. Sorry to trump your idea with the truth. But the fact is, a soul has to start somewhere, to be ‘newly hatched’ as you cal it. So why not then and there?
Besides, if there’d been another life, an earlier life, I would’ve known about it by now. I would’ve seen it in the Shadowland.”
“So, you’re tel ing me you didn’t?” I’m unwil ing to let it go, despite the undeniable point he’s just made, despite the steam running out of me.
“I did not.” He nods, face solemn, resolute, determined not to gloat with the victory of winning this one.
I sigh, close my eyes, and shove my hands deep into my pockets. Recal ing my own trip to Shadowland, the blur of images that played out before me—al around me—never once seeing anything that wasn’t expected—no prior lives I wasn’t already aware of.
No other version of me that went by the name Adelina.
Nothing that took place in the year 1308.
My lids lifting only to find Damen standing before me, his gaze soft and gentle, pressing a bundle of tulips into my hand. The words I’m sorry, written in an elaborate bold purple script that hovers between us.
Me too, I write just underneath. I didn’t mean to disappoint you.
“I know,” he whispers, his arms moving around me as I close my eyes and lean into the hug, savoring the feel of his body against mine. “And I know I’m going to live to regret this, but you can have your week back. Real y. Investigate your heart out and I’l do what I can to help you search. But when the week is over, Ever, you’re al mine. I’m making some serious vacation plans.”
seven
“When I agreed to help you search, I thought we’d be in the Great Hal s of Learning. What are we going to do here? Set up camp for the next six days?” He looks at me, face aghast by the very thought of it. Having assumed his days of roughing it, of going without the things he’s grown accustomed to, like magick, and manifesting, not to mention indoor plumbing, were solidly behind him, he’s more than a little dismayed to find himself here. “What if she doesn’t return? What then?” He settles in beside me, his body heaving a little more forceful y than necessary, or at least it seems that way to me. His movements causing the plastic tarp to sink and shake, resulting in a disgusting slurping-type sound as the ground burps and settles beneath us.
A sound that sets me off in a fit of giggles, I can’t help it. But he just shakes his head and rol s his eyes, total y and completely over it.
Having been smart enough to manifest two big plastic tarps—one to sit on, and one to shield us from the constant onslaught of rain—
along with a few other essentials just before reaching this point—the part of Summerland where magick goes unrecognized, and manifesting does not exist—I can’t help but think we should’ve made something more—like a ful y loaded RV perhaps that we could’ve parked off to the side. Stil , I’m determined to make the best of it, to wait it out until the old lady shows up again.
And she better show up or I’l never live this one down.
The ground continues to sink and slosh every time one of us makes even the slightest adjustment, forcing me to swal ow a whole new set of giggles and return my focus to Damen when I say, “Instead of worrying about what you’l do if she doesn’t come, maybe you should start thinking about what you’l do when she does come. I mean, after al , isn’t that why we’re here?”
He looks at me, swipes a hand through his hair, pushing it away from his forehead when he says, “Honestly, Ever? The only reason I’m here is because I’ve sworn my eternal al egiance to you. You know that part about ‘for better or worse’? I figure this must be the worse part, which means it can only get better from here.”
I glance at him, tempted to make some crack about us not being married, but decide it’s better not to push my luck, so I let it drop.
“So what are you going to do? If she comes, I mean?” Damen leans back and gazes up at the tarp hanging over us, no magick, no manifesting, nothing better to do.
“I’m going to confront her head-on. I’m going to ask her to stop speaking in riddles and get to the point. I’m going to—”
He looks at me, waiting to hear more. But there is no more. That’s as far as I’ve gotten with the plan. So I fold my hands in my lap and end it with that.
“Okay, and between now and then?” He lifts his brow.
I look at him, my face a blank until I remember the duffle bag I’d manifested earlier. I run off to retrieve it, dropping it before him and watching as he sits up, perks up, and peers inside. Riffling through a supply of magazines, a couple of paperbacks, a deck of playing cards, some board games, and several chil ed bottles of elixir.
“I don’t get it,” he says, seeming a little confused by the stash. “What’s al this?”
“It’s a little something I like to cal , ‘making the best of a not so great situation.’” I nod, holding my breath when he hesitates, stil s, then decides to go with it. Lifting the top off a board game and going about the motions of setting it up, I settle in beside him.
Stretching my legs out before me until they’re nearly even with his, glancing al around, on the lookout for her, but seeing only the usual landscape of gray skies, drenched earth, and a rain that refuses to stop or slow down, I plead a silent wish for her to show, sooner rather than later, then return my focus to Damen, motioning for him to take the first rol .
eight
Three games, one nap (Damen, not me), and two and a half bottles of elixir later, she appears.
And I mean, she just— appears. Like, one minute it’s just us, no sign of anyone else, and the next she’s standing before us, those ancient eyes focused on me as though they’d never left.
“ Damen!” I spare a moment to glance at him, seeing the way he stirs in his sleep and starts to rol over. I grab hold of his leg, giving it one, two good shakes as I repeat, “Damen—wake up! She’s here!”
Saying it as though the mere sight of her holds the promise of something great—like I’d just spotted Santa with a sleigh ful of p
resents and a fleet of flying reindeer.
Damen bolts upright, al owing his hand a quick swipe of his eyes, clearing the sleep before reaching for me. A delay that causes him to miss contact, the chance to pul me back to him, as I haul myself to my feet and make my way toward her. Having no idea what I’l say, but I’ve waited too long in the rain to miss the opportunity.
“You…” she begins, her arm slowly lifting, though I’m quick to stop her right there. No need to go into ful -on chant mode, not when we’ve al heard it before and real y don’t need to hear it again.
“About that…” I stand before her, careful to keep a cushion of a few feet between us, even though at her advanced age I’m pretty sure she’s il equipped to harm me in any real way. “I’ve heard the song, memorized the lyrics, and trust me, I mean no disrespect, but do you think we could just communicate in English? Or, at least the kind of English I’m used to, the kind that actual y makes sense?”
My eyes travel over her, taking in the silver wisps of hair, the startling eyes, the skin that appears so fragile and thin it looks as though it might snag. Searching for a reaction, some sign that she took offense at my words, but unable to find any response other than a rheumy old gaze that switches to Damen as he claims the space by my side. His shoulders squared, legs steady, feet placed just so, readying himself to spring into action, do whatever it takes to defend me from this strange centenarian should it come to that.
A thought that seems so sil y on the surface, I could easily burst into yet another fit of laughter if this wasn’t so serious.
I rise up on my toes, wel , as much as one can when knee-deep in muck, remembering how one of the last times I saw her, Misa and Marco surprised me by stepping out from behind her, but from what I can see, today they’re not here.
So far it’s just Damen, the crazy old lady, and me. And, from what I can tel , she doesn’t seem the slightest bit surprised to find us both waiting.
I’m about to speak again, determined to move this thing forward and get what I came for—determined to clear my conscience of the overwhelmingly nagging doubt that Damen might be right after al —that this is al some sort of cruel cosmic joke—that I’m being played in the very worst way—that there’s no way either of us lived before—when she looks at me and says, “Adelina. ”