“He sent me some photos,” I say, voice low, eyes never once leaving his. “Something he really wants us to see.”
Damen nods, arranging his features into an expression of determined acceptance, as though the moment he’s been waiting for has arrived, and now he’s just anticipating the fallout, to see how I react, to see how much damage has been done.
I click to the home page, then over to mail, watching as the little connecting swirl goes around and around until Miles’s e-mail is displayed. And then, the second it pops up, I just hold my breath and tap it—my knees going all wobbly the very moment I see it.
The picture.
Or rather, the picture of the painting. Photography wasn’t yet invented back then, wouldn’t be invented for several hundred more years. But still, there it is, flaunted before me, and there’s no mistaking it’s him. Them. Posing together.
“How bad is it?” he asks, body perfectly still as his eyes graze over me. “As bad as I expected?”
I glance at him, but only for a second before I’m focusing back on the screen, unwilling to tear my eyes away. “Depends on what you were expecting,” I mumble, remembering how I felt that day in Summerland when I spied on his past. How sick, how completely green with envy I was, when it got to the part where he hooked up with Drina. But this—this isn’t anything like that. In fact, not even close. Oh sure, Drina is stunning—Drina was always stunning, even at her ugliest and most vicious she was breathtaking, or at least on the outside anyway. And I’m sure no matter what decade she was in, be it the era of bustles or poodle skirts, I’m sure she was stunning then too. But the fact is, Drina’s gone, so gone that the thought of her, the sight of her, doesn’t really bother me anymore. In fact, it doesn’t bother me at all.
What bothers me is Damen. The way he stands, the way he gazes at the artist, and how—how arrogant and vain and, well, full of himself he is. And even though he carries a trace of that outlaw edge that I like, this isn’t quite so playful as what I’m used to. It’s a lot less let’s-ditch-school-and-bet-at-the-track and a lot more this-is-my-world-and-you’re-just-lucky-I-let-you-live-in-it.
And the more I gaze at the two of them, Drina sitting demurely in a straight-backed chair, hands folded neatly in her lap, dress and hair adorned with so many jewels and ribbons and shiny things, it’d look ridiculous on anyone else—while Damen stands behind her, one hand resting on her chair, the other hanging by his side, his chin tilted, brow arced in that cool, haughty way—well, there’s just something about him—something about that look in his gaze that’s—well—almost cruel, ruthless even. Like he’d be willing to do whatever it takes, whatever the cost, to get what he wants.
And even though he’s made plenty of mention of his “before picture” of his former, narcissistic, power-hungry self—it’s one thing to hear about it, it’s quite another to see it so clearly displayed.
But even though there are three more portraits attached, I only give them the most cursory glance. Miles is only interested in the fact that Damen and Drina were captured on canvas hundreds of years ago, and that in each passing portrait, some of them painted centuries apart according to their plaques, they somehow manage to remain young, beautiful, and eerily unchanged. He could care less about Damen’s demeanor, the way he carried himself, the look in his eyes—no, that was my surprise.
I hand the phone to Damen, seeing the way his fingers tremble ever so slightly when he takes it from me, glancing quickly through the pictures before handing it right back. His voice low and steady as he says, “I’ve already lived it once, I really don’t need to see it again.”
I nod, dropping the phone back in my bag, taking too long to place it, obviously avoiding his gaze.
“So, now you’ve seen him. The monster I used to be,” he says, his words going straight to the heart of me.
I swallow hard, dropping my bag onto the thickly woven rug, a priceless antique that should be in a museum somewhere, not used for this sort of daily wear. His strange choice of words reminding me of my conversation with Ava—everyone has a monster, a dark side, no exceptions whatsoever. And even though most people spend their whole lives determined to bury it, force it down deep, I guess if you’ve lived as long as Damen, you’re bound to confront it from time to time.
“I’m sorry,” I say, suddenly realizing I am. It hardly matters where we’ve been. It’s where we are now that counts. “I—I guess I wasn’t expecting it and I was a little taken aback. I’ve never really seen you like that.”
“Not even in Summerland?” He looks at me. “Not even in the Great Halls of Learning?”
I shake my head. “No, I mostly fast-forwarded through all of those parts. I couldn’t bear to watch you with Drina.”
“And now?”
“And now—” I sigh. “I’m no longer bothered by Drina—just you.” I try to laugh, try to lighten my mood, but it doesn’t quite work.
“Well, if I’m not mistaken, I think that’s what you’d call progress.” He smiles, pulling me into his arms and holding me tightly to his chest.
“And Miles?” My eyes graze over his face, the slant of his brow, the square of his jaw, my fingers scratching at the swath of stubble that grows there. “What are we going to tell him? How do we ever explain this?” My hesitation, my fleeting rejection of the old him, now vanished for good. Our past may shape us, but it doesn’t define who we become.
“We’re going to tell him the truth.” He nods, voice firm, as though he really does mean it. “When the time comes, we’ll tell him the truth. And with the way things are going, it won’t be much longer now.”
thirty
“Okay, so now, what I want you to do is to focus on feeding your energy. Cleansing it, lifting it, accelerating it to greater and greater speeds. Think you can do that?”
I squinch my eyes shut and concentrate. The accelerating part’s always been the hardest for me. Remembering when Jude tried to coach me to do the same thing so I could see Riley again. But no matter how hard I tried, my energy remained just stagnant enough, just bogged down enough, just muddled enough, to pick up on the thoughts and images of a smattering of earthbound entities, and not the ones who’ve crossed over, the ones I wanted to see.
“With every intake of breath I want you to imagine a beautiful, healing, shimmering white light filling you up, starting at your crown and drifting all the way down to your toes. And then, with each exhale, I want you to imagine all that leftover negativity, any doubts, anything that serves the word can’t leaving you for good. Imagine it as a thick, mucky, clumpy, clotted stream of gray drudge if you want—that always seems to work for me.” She laughs, her voice like a smile.
I nod, and since my eyes are closed, I can only imagine the twins are nodding too. Their approach to Ava is pretty much the same as their approach to Damen—complete and total idolization, willing to do whatever she says. And while they weren’t too thrilled about The Book of Shadows being banished from their lesson plan, even after I shared my own cautionary tale of magick gone wrong, showing them just how astray things can go when the intent gets a bit clouded and good judgment is overruled by obsession, they wasted no time in pointing out that they’d never be as stupid as me. Would never practice any kind of ritual on a dark moon. Would only try to manipulate matter and never the actions of another human being. But Ava held firm, which is why we’re all back to energy cleansing and meditating again.
And even though I’m going along with the plan, picturing the white light streaming all the way through me, while banishing the negative crud that tends to build up inside—even though in just a few weeks of doing this I’ve already seen a tremendous difference in the way that I look, feel, and, almost more important, in the way I can manifest and communicate telepathically with Damen again—even though I know that taking part in this group meditation only serves my own best interests and will help steer me toward the ultimate destination I want to reach—even despite all that, my mind keeps wandering back to yesterday at
the beach, when I took the day off from work to hang out with Damen.
We spread our towels out next to each other, so close the edges overlapped. Adding a mountain of unread magazines by my side, a customized, newly manifested surfboard by his (since the old one broke to pieces in the unfortunate cave collapse from a few weeks back), along with some chilled bottles of elixir, and an iPod we passed back and forth but mostly I listened to. The two of us determined to enjoy the summer we had both anticipated but had yet to experience. The two of us looking forward to a long, relaxing day at the beach, just like any other couple.
“Surf?” he said, rising from his towel and grabbing hold of his board.
But I just shook my head. As far as surfing goes, it’s better for everyone if I just stay put and watch from afar.
So I did. Watching as he headed off toward the water, raising my shoulders and shifting my weight onto my elbows as he moved across the sand so swiftly and effortlessly, I wondered if anyone else was as mesmerized by the sight of it as I was.
My gaze still focused on him as he dropped his board into the ocean and began to paddle out, turning what was once a series of pretty ho-hum, semi-flat waves into a succession of near perfect barrels. Fully content to ignore my magazines and iPod in favor of watching him, until Stacia came up beside me, tucked her long, newly highlighted hair back behind her ear, hitched her designer beach bag higher up on her shoulder, and lowered her sunglasses onto her face as she said, “Jeez, Ever, white much?”
I swallowed hard, breathed in and out, blinked a few times, but that’s it. I gave no indication of having seen or heard her. I was determined to ignore her, determined to act as though she was invisible to me, and keep Damen in focus.
She stood beside me, making little tsking sounds of disgust as she harshly looked me over, but it wasn’t long before she tired of the game and moved on, shuffling down the sand and settling in somewhere near the water but still within perfect viewing distance of me.
And that’s when I let myself do it. That’s when I went against everything Ava has taught me about empowering myself by tuning her, and everyone else like her, out, in favor of my own, more positive, upbeat soundtrack. That’s when I let her words replay in my head as my eyes raked over my body and agreed she was right. Even though just a few minutes before I’d felt good about the way I looked, thrilled that my formerly unhealthy, emaciated body was now nicely filled out again, there’s no getting around the fact that I was white—glaringly white—a white that definitely required the wearing of sunglasses and that could only be described as pasty. And when you factor in the light blond hair and the white bikini—the truth is, it wasn’t pretty. I may as well have been a ghost.
And I was so far gone by that point, so convinced of her negative view of me, it took a whole, long session of those deep cleansing breaths Ava’s so fond of to get rid of it. But even so, I wasn’t willing to let it go completely, and I watched as she and Honor whispered back and forth, watched as Stacia laughed loudly, dramatically tossing her hair all around and swiveling her head from side to side, continually checking to see who was noticing her but always coming back to me, smirking, eye rolling, shaking her head in disgust, and pretty much doing whatever she could to show me just how revolting she found me. And even though it would’ve been easy enough to tune in, focus my quantum remote, and hear all the words that were and weren’t being said, that’s when I decided to stop.
Even though I was definitely tempted, especially after knowing all about Honor’s plans to overthrow Stacia, and stage her own senior-year social coup—not to mention her “amazing,” well, according to Jude anyway, progress in his Psychic Development 101 class, catching on so quickly and easily, mastering so many techniques he’s switched to one-on-one sessions where he tutors her exclusively—but still, despite all that, I didn’t do it. Didn’t eavesdrop. Figuring I’ll be getting plenty of that when school starts again. Instead, I switched my focus to Damen, enjoying the way he maneuvered through the water so gracefully, so elegantly, the way he practically glistened in the sun. A startling arrangement of bronzed skin, smooth rounded muscles, and jaw-dropping good looks as he came out of the water, board tucked under his arm, and headed for me.
Immune to Stacia’s hard, glinting stare, her high-pitched, saccharine-sweet greeting as he passed, dropped his board onto the sand, and trailed large drops of salty wetness onto my belly as he bent down to kiss me. Ignoring the way she watched so intently, so closely, not missing a beat as he settled in beside me and kissed me again, that veil of energy hovering between us, keeping us safe, but invisible to them.
Or, at least that’s what I thought, until I lifted my head to see the way Honor was looking, mostly at him. Her gaze reminding me of Stacia’s—lingering, longing, but also, or at least in her case anyway, filled with a great deal of knowing and seeing as well.
And when her eyes met mine, and I saw the smile that formed on her lips, a smile that flashed and vanished so quickly, I wondered if I really had seen it. Left only with a lingering sense of dread as I turned away from her and back toward Damen—
“Ever? Yoo-hoo?” Ava calls, as Romy giggles and Rayne mutters under her breath. “Are you still with us? Still enjoying your cleansing breaths?”
And just like that, my memory of the beach collapses and I’m back in Ava’s house again.
I shake my head, my gaze meeting hers as I say, “Um—no, I guess I got a little distracted.”
But Ava just shrugs, she’s one of those nice teachers, there are no demerits in her class. “It happens,” she says. “Anything we can help you with?”
I glance at Romy and Rayne, shaking my head when I say, “No. I’m good.”
Watching as she lifts her hands high overhead, stretching from side to side, leisurely, languorously, as she looks at me and says, “What do you think? You want to give it a try?”
I press my lips together and shrug. Not sure if I’ll get in but ready to give it a go.
“Good. I think it’s time.” She smiles. “Would you like company, or would you rather go it alone?”
I glance at the twins, seeing the way they study their feet, the pictures on the walls, the hem of their dresses, anything but me. The last couple attempts to get them to Summerland have failed, and not wanting to risk making them feel badly again, I say, “Um, I think I’ll go it alone, if that’s okay with you.”
Ava looks at me, her gaze holding mine for a moment before she presses her palms together, bows her head, and says, “Have a safe trip, Ever. Godspeed.”
Her words still echoing in my head as I bypass the vast fragrant field and land smack in front of the Great Halls of Learning. Brushing myself off as I rise to my feet, feeling ready, cleansed, totally and completely whole again, and hoping whoever’s in charge of admittance will agree.
Hoping the ever-changing façade will make itself visible to me.
I clamber up the steps, unwilling to waste even a second, unwilling to allow any time for doubt to move in. Gazing up at the grand building before me, the imposing columns, grand sloping roof, and gasping in relief as it begins to shimmer and change. Transforming itself into all of the world’s most beautiful, sacred places, as the doors spring open for me.
I’m in!
I’m back.
Making my way across the shiny marble floors, past the long line of tables and benches that house row after row of spiritual seekers. Each of them hovering over their square crystal tablets, each of them searching for answers. And suddenly, I realize I’m not so different from them, we’re all here for the same reason—we’re all on some kind of quest.
So I close my eyes and think:
First of all, thank you for giving me a second chance and allowing me back. I know I messed up for a while there and got a bit off track, but now that I’ve learned a few things, I promise I won’t mess up again—or at least not like that. But still, the truth is, my quest hasn’t changed. I still need to get that antidote from Roman so that Damen and I can??
?well—be together. And since Roman is the key—the only one who has access to it, I need to know how to handle him, how to approach him in a way that’ll get me what I need but without—well, without manipulating him or—or casting spells—or getting caught up like that again. So, um, I guess what I’m trying to say is, I need to know how to approach him. I don’t really know where to go from here, and, well, if you could help me with this, provide some kind of clue, show me whatever it is you think I need to know in order to deal with him in just the right way—well, I’d really appreciate it.
I hold my breath, hold perfectly still, aware of a distant whir, a soft, swirly sound whooshing around me, and when I open my eyes, I find myself in a hall. Not the same hall as before with the infinite runner and the hieroglyphic Braille on the wall, this hall is wider, shorter, more like a walkway that takes you to your row of seats in an indoor stadium or concert hall. And when I get there, when I reach the end, I see that I am in a stadium, a sort of indoor coliseum, only in this particular one, there’s only one seat, and as it just so happens, it’s reserved just for me.
I settle in, unfolding the blanket beside me, and placing it onto my lap. Gazing around at the walls, the columns, all of it appearing old, crumbly, as though it was built long ago, back in ancient times, and wondering if I’m expected to do something, make the first move, when a colorful, shimmering hologram appears right before me.
I lean toward it, squinting at an almost hallucinatory image of a family—the mother pale, feverish, flat on her back and wracked with great pain, screaming in agony, begging for God to just take her, not even getting a chance to hold the son she’s just birthed before her wish is granted, she heaves her last breath, and moves on. Her soul traveling upward, onward, as her baby, the tiny, kicking, newly born baby is cleaned and swathed and handed to a father who’s too busy grieving for his dead wife to pay him any notice.
A father who never stops grieving for his wife—and who blames his son for her loss.