“How can I back out?” he gasps, still catching his breath. “When I don’t even know what I’m potentially backing out of?”
“Roman’s house, which is now Haven’s house, is just up the street. And you and I are going in.”
“We’re breaking into Haven’s?” He gasps, finally starting to get the potential seriousness of all this. “Seriously?”
“Seriously.” I push my sunglasses up on my forehead. “And I’m also serious about you backing out, since there’s really no good reason for you to take part. I’m perfectly fine with you waiting right here. You can be my lookout. Not that I think I’ll need one, but still.”
But before I can finish, he’s already climbing out of the car, already made up his mind. “Oh, no, you are not talking me out of this.” He shakes his head in a way that allows his hair to flop right into his eyes. “If I’m ever up for a role as a cat burglar, or an art thief, or something like that, I can totally use this experience.” He laughs.
“Yeah, except it’s not exactly art that we’re after.” I motion for him to follow as I make for the walkway that leads to the door. Glancing over my shoulder to add, “And trust me, it doesn’t really feel all that much like breaking and entering when you just walk up to the front door and open it with your mind. Though technically, since we weren’t exactly invited, the term still applies.”
He stops in his tracks, face expressing major disappointment. “Wait—seriously? That’s it? We don’t get to do a stealthy tiptoe as we slip around back? No sneaking through a cracked window or arguing over who gets to crawl through the doggie door to let the other one in?”
I pause, remembering the time I snuck into Damen’s house in much the same way, back in the beginning when I was so confused by all of his strange ways I was desperate to determine what he was—only to find out later that I’m exactly like him.
“Sorry, Miles, but it’s not gonna be nearly as exciting as that. It’s pretty straightforward stuff.” I stand before the door, seeing the lock retreat in my mind as I hold my breath and wait for the sound of that telltale click—but it doesn’t come.
“That’s weird.” I frown, trying the handle for myself and surprised when the door springs wide open. Thinking either Haven’s feeling ridiculously overconfident these days, leaving her house unlocked, or we’re not the only ones here…
I glance over my shoulder, motioning for Miles to stay quiet, to stay behind me, as I pause in the threshold, taking a moment for my eyes to adjust, to scope out the space, making sure it’s all clear before I signal for Miles to join me.
But the moment he steps into the hall, the floor creaks so loudly the sound seems to blare. Prompting us to freeze, instinctively holding our poses as we listen to the unmistakable sounds of glass breaking, voices whispering, feet scrambling, and a back door slamming so hard it sends the walls shaking.
I bolt. Racing toward the kitchen, and reaching the window just in time to see Misa and Marco making their getaway. Marco running somewhat clumsily as he cradles an unzipped duffle bag filled with elixir, as Misa follows with her own empty bag slung high over her shoulder. Turning just long enough to meet my gaze—holding the look until she breaks away, hops the fence behind Marco, and they both disappear down the alleyway.
“What the hell?” Miles says, finally catching up and coming into the room. “Did you seriously just move as fast as I think you did?”
I turn, taking in the jagged shards of glass scattered all across the floor, and the deep, dark red liquid that races across the tiles and seeps into the grout.
“So, what’s the deal? What did I miss?” he asks, glancing between the mess and me.
But I just shrug. I have no idea what’s going on here. No idea why Misa and Marco would resort to stealing the elixir. Why they were so panicked they actually broke a bottle. Not to mention why Misa looked so frightened to see me.
Only one thing is clear—they weren’t exactly invited to help themselves to the supply.
Still, none of that has anything to do with us or our reason for being here. So as soon as I’ve cleaned up the mess simply by wishing it to disappear, I look at Miles and say, “So, what we’re looking for is a shirt. A white linen shirt. With a big green stain on its front…”
twenty-three
The weeks go by, but nothing much changes. Jude continues to avoid me until I come to a decision, Damen continues to guard Stacia at school, Miles continues to guard my feelings regarding Damen guarding Stacia at school, and Haven continues to rule the school, while I continue to remain on high alert, waiting for the moment when she decides to go after me.
But that’s just on the surface.
Because a closer look reveals more than a few cracks that are starting to show.
For one thing, there’s just no hiding the fact that Honor’s just as miserable being Haven’s number two as she was being Stacia’s number two—maybe even more so.
For another, while I can’t be too sure, since it’s not like we actually talk or anything, but by the way Stacia keeps glancing at table A with such determination and longing, well, it’s pretty clear she’s getting sick of being protected by a guy who’s immune to her charms and truly only wants to protect her.
And as for Haven, after having hooked up with and discarded just about every guy who’s ever snubbed her in the past, she’s clearly getting bored with the game. She’s also growing increasingly annoyed with the way everyone copies the various looks she works so hard to create, forcing her to invent new, more outrageous ones that ultimately get copied too.
I guess being the alpha chick isn’t quite what she thought it would be. The reality is starting to wear thin, like a job she doesn’t particularly enjoy and wasn’t really all that qualified for in the first place.
I can tell by the way she snaps at her supposed new friends, by the way she rolls her eyes dramatically, heaves these big loud sighs, and sometimes even resorts to foot-stomping tantrums when she’s really, really frustrated and wants them all to know it.
Life at the top is dragging her down, and from what I can tell, Honor is really starting to resent her being there, just like I predicted she would.
Yet it’s also clear that neither one of them has any plan to forfeit their positions. Haven has too much to prove, and Honor, well, while I have no idea what level she might’ve reached in her magick skills now that Jude’s taken a break from tutoring her, regardless of what she’s managed to learn, she’s still no match for Haven and there’s no doubt she knows it.
And even though Miles and I don’t really discuss it, even though I pretty much just stick to the same ol’, day in, day out, boring routine—of training in the morning, remaining vigilant at school, and then training again before bed, only to get up and do it all over again—I know I’m not the only one who notices.
Damen sees it too.
I can tell by the way his gaze is always on me—following me wherever I go. He feels anxious, worried about me.
Worried that she’s starting to lose it—that she’ll blow without warning and decide to come after me.
Worried that I’ll fail to alert him when it happens, even though I promised I would.
And he probably has good reason to worry. She’s strung out. Unruly. She’s a complete and total wreck.
Like a bomb only seconds from detonating.
A thread that’s this close to snapping.
And when it happens, I’ll be the first one she seeks.
Or at least I hope it’s me.
Better me than Jude.
On my way home from school I stop by the store. Despite the fact that Jude asked me to stay away, claiming he can’t bear to have me around until I make a firm decision either way.
Still, I convince myself it’s my duty—that I have a serious obligation to look after him and make sure that he’s safe and okay and all that.
But when I catch myself manifesting a cute new dress and shoes to go with it, just before checking my hair and makeup in t
he rearview mirror, I know that’s only part of it. The other part is I need to see him. Need to see if being around him will spark something in me.
Something I can build on.
Something strong and tangible and defined enough to steer me in the right direction.
I stop just outside the door, fussing with my clothes and my hair once again, before taking a deep breath and going in. Half expecting to find Ava behind the counter, since it’s such a warm and beautiful day, I figure the siren song of all that good surf will be pretty hard for Jude to ignore, but thrilled to find him right there behind the register instead. Laughing and joking as though he hasn’t a care in the world, his face relaxed, his aura green and easy, as he goes about the business of ringing up a customer.
A cute customer.
One whose blazing pink aura tells me she’s only partly there for the books that she’s buying and mostly there to see Jude.
I pause, wondering if I should just leave and come back later, when the door closes behind me, the bell clanks hard against it, and Jude looks past his customer to find me standing only a few feet away. Prompting his eyes to darken, his smile to falter, as his aura grows wavy and dim—pretty much the opposite of how he looked when he was talking to her.
As though the mere sight of me is enough to suck the joy right out of the room.
He shoves her stuff in a bag and sends her on her way so hastily, so abruptly, she can’t help but notice the change. Giving me a quick up and down, chased by an accusatory frown, she mumbles something under her breath and makes her way past, while Jude busies himself behind the counter as though I’m not there.
“She likes you,” I say, watching as he takes an extra long time to handle his copy of the receipt.
“She likes you and she’s cute,” I add, getting no more than a grunt in reply.
“She likes you and she’s cute and she’s got good energy,” I insist, urging him to look at me as I make my way toward him. “Which makes me wonder, what’s wrong with you?”
He stops. Stops with the fumbling, and the busy making, and the pretending I’m not standing right there in front of him when we both know I am.
Stops with all of that and finally looks at me and says, “You.” Stating it so openly, so simply, I’m not sure what to do. “You are what’s wrong with me.” I gaze down at my feet, unable to look at him, feeling foolish for coming here like this, and barely daring a breath when he adds, “Isn’t that what you wanted to hear?”
I nod, slightly, barely, because he’s right. It is what I wanted to hear. It’s exactly why I came here.
He sinks down onto the stool, shoulders slumping as he buries his face in his hands. Rubbing his eyes, the pads of his fingers digging in deep, before lifting his head and squinting at me when he says, “Ever, what’s this about? Seriously? What’re you doing here—what do you want from me?”
I swallow hard, knowing I owe him an answer, owe him the truth—in both of its forms. Venturing to do just that when I say, “Well, first of all, I wanted to make sure you’re okay. I haven’t seen you in a while and—”
“And—?” he snaps, clearly in no mood for games.
“And… I just really wanted to see you. Needed to see you, I guess you could say.”
“You guess?”
His eyes rake over me, leaving me feeling raw, exposed, and weirdly traitorous toward Damen. Still, I need something from him. I’m all out of options. I mean, I can’t find the shirt, the Great Hall refuses to help me, the wish I made on my night star has yet to come true, and so far there’ve been no omens or signs of any kind—all of which has led me right here, left with only one way I can think of to get to the bottom of it.
A way that’s only been attempted but never actually completed.
A way that just might steer me toward the right one.
“Jude,” I start, my voice sounding raw, unused. “Jude, I—”
I move closer, thinking: This is ridiculous—this whole thing is ridiculous.
I mean, he loves me, and I know I once loved him, or, even if it wasn’t exactly love, I know for a fact I felt something for him. And maybe a kiss is all it’ll take to reveal it to me. Just like when I first kissed Damen, how we felt so connected, so bonded, before all the other cruel realities moved in.
I move around the counter and reach for his hand, moving so quickly barely a moment passes before my fingers are pressed against his and a soothing rush of his cool, calm energy streams through my limbs. Quieting my mind—causing my body to soften and yield—watching as his face veers closer, gaze probing, burning, as my fingers curl around the lean tautness of his arm.
My entire being flushed with anticipation as I pull him right to me, waiting for the swell of his lips against mine, needing to experience this once and for all, needing to know just what it is we’ve been missing throughout all of these centuries.
At first shocked by the feel of it, the unexpected coolness, the pillowy firmness of his kiss—so opposite Damen’s perfect blend of tingle and heat. Aware of the low groan escaping his throat as he cups the back of my head and presses me to him. His mouth parting softly, his tongue seeking mine, as the door swings wide open, crashes hard against the wall, and sends the bell ringing and scattering across the floor.
We turn.
Jolted apart in surprise.
Only to find Haven, looking dark, sinister, cruelly shadowed by the light at her back, blocking the doorway and glaring at us.
Her lip curled, eyes narrowed, a hand perched on each hip as she says, “Wow. Would you look at that? This must be my lucky day. Two birds, one stone, and neither one of you standing a chance.”
twenty-four
I turn to Jude, urging him to run, hide, to do whatever it takes to get away from her. Knowing we have only a second, two at the most, before she’s on us—before it’s too late for him to go anywhere else.
But even though I’m not at all joking, even though I shoot him a look that tells him I’m one hundred percent serious—he stays right where he is. Planted behind the counter, planted right behind me. Mistakenly thinking our brief, barely-there kiss somehow obliges him to stick around and protect me.
And I’m just about to repeat my request, when she’s already crossed the room, already standing before us wild-eyed, crazed, wearing an out-of-control look on her face.
I move to cover Jude, seeing the way she smiles, slowly running the tip of her tongue around the rim of her lips as she peers over my shoulder and says, “Do yourself a favor and don’t listen to Ever. You’re much better off staying right where you are. You can never outrun me, no matter how hard you try. Besides, you’re definitely gonna need that energy for later.”
She takes a quick step to the right, as though she’s planning to reach right around me and snatch him away, but I’m quick to block her, my eyes narrowed on hers, reminded of our unfortunate encounter in the school bathroom—when she controlled me—pinned me up against the wall—against my will—and knowing that if I’m barely a match for her, then Jude will never survive it.
“Sorry to interrupt your little make-out session.” She laughs, her red-rimmed eyes darting between us. “I had no idea you two had decided to take it in that direction.” She reaches toward me, pricking my shoulder with the sharp edge of her long, blue-painted nail before pulling away. The cold, bitter chill of her energy stinging, lingering, though there’s no mistaking the effort it took to keep the hand trembling to a minimum.
She cocks her head to the side, grabs a chunk of hair that spills over her shoulder, and twirls it around and around her raised index finger. Her gaze focused solely on Jude when she says, “Before you get too overly excited about having made it to first base, you should probably know that the only reason Ever’s allowed you to even get that far is because Damen’s abandoned her for Stacia. Again.” She shakes her head and purses her lips, eyes darting between him and me. “And, well, I guess she’s just looking for someone to fall back on. You know, so to speak.”
I steal a quick glance at Jude, hoping he’s not really listening to this, not taking her seriously, but his gaze is so clouded, so conflicted, it’s nearly impossible to read.
“Don’t you ever get tired of it?” She abandons the hair twirling in order to admire the stacks of rings she wears on each finger. “You know, of Ever’s constantly using you as a shoulder to cry on, using you to do her dirty work for her? I mean, seriously, when you think about it, a kiss is like, well, pretty much the least she can do when she’s the number one reason why your life is destined to come to such a tragic, untimely end.”
But even though she’s prepared to go on and on, dragging this out for as long as she pleases, I’ve heard enough. Jude’s heard enough. And I don’t want him to get distracted by her or, worse, start to believe her.
“What do you want?” I steady my breath, center myself, and prepare for whatever it is she plans to dish out.
“Oh, I think you know.” Her eyes flash with irises that were once a beautiful, tortoiseshell swirl of bronzes and golds but are now dark, ominous, gloomy, and mottled with red. “I think I’ve been quite clear about that.” She smirks. “But what I can’t decide is who to kill first? So maybe you can help me out here, which would you prefer—you or Jude?”
I hold her gaze, doing what I can to temper and soothe Jude’s increasingly agitated energy, while keeping her attention and the brunt of her anger directed at me. “So, this is it?” My brow lifts as I glance all around. “Your big plan, the big scary move you’ve been threatening to make for—what’s it been—weeks, months?” I lift my shoulders as though it’s hardly worth remembering. “Is actually going to go down in a quaint little neighborhood bookstore?” I shake my head as though I couldn’t be more disappointed by her mundane choice of venues. “I gotta tell ya, Haven, I’m a little surprised. I mean, I really would’ve thought you’d go for something with way more drama and flair. You know, some big, bold move in an overcrowded mall or something. But, then again, you are looking a little—what was that word Roman used to use?” I narrow my lids as though I’m actually trying to remember, making a show of slapping my forehead when I say, “Oh, that’s right—peckish. You’re looking a little peckish these days.” My gaze meets hers. “You know, strung-out, tired, a little—edgy—even. Like you’re desperately in need of a good meal—and, well, yeah, maybe even a hug.”