Shadowland

by Alyson Noel

  I nod, mumbling some nonsense about taking his finals early, but my heart isn’t in it, and it shows. Seeing them nod in assent, but only to appease me, their eyes and auras say otherwise, they’re not buying a word of it.

  “Just make sure Jude’s there,” Miles says, the mere mention of his name making my stomach dance.

  “Yeah, I’ll need him as a backup in case my date doesn’t work out like I hope.” Haven smiles.

  “You have a date?” Miles and I both say, voices blending as we take a moment to gawk.

  “Who?” I ask.

  Just as Miles says, “That was fast!”

  But Haven just smiles, waving over her shoulder as she heads for class, singing, “You’ll see!”

  thirty-six

  Since I kept my promise to Munoz by attending history (which was way more awkward for me than it was for him), and since I made no such promise to any of my other teachers, I skip the rest of the day and head for the store.

  My thoughts drifting to Damen as I cruise Coast Highway, visualizing him so clearly he manifests in the seat right beside me. Gazing at me with those dark, smoldering eyes, lips parted, enticing, as he presses a spray of red tulips onto my lap—causing an ache so palpable, I banish him well before he can fade. Knowing a manifest Damen will never do. Not when the real one is out there—somewhere—waiting for three months to end.

  But I can’t wait. I refuse to wait. The only way to rid myself of this hollow empty feeling is to get Damen back. And the only way to do that is to crack Roman’s code. Get my hands on that antidote once and for all and then all of my problems are solved.

  But short of returning to his house, I’ve no clue where to find him. Like Damen, he’s pretty much blowing off the last days of school.

  I pull into the alley and claim the small space in back, storming through the door with such speed and force, Jude glances up in confusion as I head behind the counter and reach for the appointment book.

  “Trust me, if I’d known you were ditching, I would’ve scheduled some readings, but as it stands, I got nothing.”

  “I’m not ditching,” I mumble, even though we both know I am. “Okay, maybe I am.” I shrug, glancing at him. “But it’s the last week of school so it’s really no biggie. You won’t tell anyone, will you?”

  He dismisses the thought with a wave of his hand, lifting his shoulders as he says, “Just wish I’d known. I would’ve brought my board.”

  “You can still get it.” I head for the shelves and begin rearranging some books. Wanting to put some distance between us so I can avoid the enticing wave of calm his proximity brings. “Seriously,” I add when I see he’s not moving. “I’ll keep an eye on the place.”

  He looks at me, gaze steady, focused on mine. “Ever—” he starts.

  I look at him, sensing where this is going and eager to dispel any fears before he can get there. “You don’t have to pay me,” I say, arms loaded with books. “I’m not here for the overtime. In fact, I don’t even care if you pay me at all.”

  He narrows his gaze for one beat, then two. Tilting his head to the side when he says, “You really don’t, do you?”

  I shrug and return all the books, taking a moment to line them up perfectly before answering, “Nope, I really don’t.” Feeling good to unburden yet another illusion of mine, no matter how small.

  “Exactly what are you here for?” he asks, voice catching in a way I can’t help but notice. “The book?”

  I turn, feeling all nervous and squirmy as my gaze settles on his. “Is it that obvious?” I lift my shoulders, forcing a laugh.

  Relieved when he smiles and jabs his thumb over his shoulder as he says, “Go ahead, have fun. I won’t tell Damen what you’re up to.”

  I shoot him a look making it clear I’m over the Damen jokes, until I see that he’s serious.

  “Sorry.” He shrugs. “But it’s pretty clear he’s not into it.”

  I shrug, neither confirming nor denying. There’s no way I’m discussing Damen with him. Heading for the back room and settling in at the desk, just about to unlock the drawer with my mind when I see that he’s followed.

  “Oh, um, I forgot that it’s locked,” I mumble, feeling false and ridiculous as I motion toward the drawer, knowing I’m the worst actress ever but still going through the motions.

  He leans in the doorway, shooting me a look that makes it clear he’s not buying it. “Didn’t seem to stop you the last time,” he says, voice low and deep. “Or even the first time I found you in the store.”

  I swallow hard, unsure what to say. Admitting my abilities is breaking Damen’s most cardinal rule. The weight of Jude’s gaze heavy on mine as I say, “I can’t—I—”

  He lifts a brow, knowing I very well can.

  “I can’t do it in front of you,” I finish, knowing it’s foolish to keep up this ruse.

  “Does this help?” He places a hand over each eye and grins.

  I gaze at him for a moment, hoping he won’t peek through his fingers, then I take a deep breath and close my eyes too, seeing the lock spring open, before retrieving the book. Placing it on the desk as he takes a seat, head cocked to the side, foot balanced on his knee when he says, “You know, you’re pretty special, Ever.”

  I freeze, fingers hovering above the ancient tome, heart beating overtime.

  “I mean, your gift is special.” He looks at me, eyes squinting, shoulders lifting, the color on his cheeks deepening as he adds, “I’ve never met anyone with abilities like yours. The way you absorb information from a book, a person—and yet—”

  I gaze at him, throat tight and hot, sensing the beginnings of something I’d rather avoid.

  “And yet—you’ve no idea of who stands beside you. Right beside you, in fact.”

  I sigh, wondering if this is the moment when he thrusts a pamphlet at me and goes into full-blown testimony mode, but he just motions to my right, smiling and nodding as though someone’s right there. But when I turn to look, all I get is blank space.

  “At first I thought for sure you’d arrived in this store to teach me.” He smiles, reading my expression when he adds, “You do know there’s no such thing as coincidence—the universe is far too precise for random events. You came here for a reason, whether you realize it or not, and—”

  “I was led here by Ava,” I say, uncomfortable with where this is going and wanting it to stop. “And I returned to see Lina not you.”

  But he just nods, completely unfazed. “And yet, you returned at a time when Lina wasn’t here, making it possible for you to find me.”

  I shift in my seat and focus on the book since I can’t look at him. Not after what he just said. Not after my trip to Amsterdam with Damen.

  “Ever hear the phrase when the student is ready the teacher appears?”

  I shrug, glancing at him briefly before looking down again.

  “We meet the people we’re supposed to when the time is just right. And even though I’m sure I have plenty to learn from you, I’d really like to teach you something if you’ll let me—if you’re open to learning.”

  I can feel his gaze, heavy and intense, and knowing my options are few, I just shrug. Seeing him nod and look to my right, tilting his head as though someone’s there.

  “There’s someone who wants to say hello,” he says, gaze fixed on that spot. “Though she warns me you’re skeptical so I’ll have to work extra hard to convince you.”

  I stare at him, neither blinking nor breathing. Thinking that if this is a joke—if he’s tricking me in some way—then I’ll—

  “Does the name Riley mean anything to you?”

  I swallow hard, unable to speak. My mind speeding backward, searching every conversation we’ve ever had, looking for the moment when I might have revealed that.

  He looks at me, patient, waiting. But I just nod, unwilling to offer anything more.

  “She says she’s your sister—your younger sister.” Giving me no time to reply when he adds, “Oh, and she’
s brought someone with her—or rather—” He smiles, pushing his dreads off his face as though to see better. “Or rather something—it’s a dog—a yellow—”

  “Lab,” I say, almost involuntarily. “That’s our dog—”

  “Butterball.” He nods.

  “Cup. Buttercup.” Eyes narrowing, wondering how he got that one wrong if Riley’s truly standing beside him.

  But he just nods, going on to say, “She says she can’t stay long since she’s keeping quite busy these days, but she wants you to know that she’s with you, a lot more than you think.”

  “Really?” I fold my arms and lean back in my seat. “Then why doesn’t she show herself?” I frown, abandoning my vow to keep silent and indulging my frustration with her. “Why doesn’t she do something to make herself known?”

  Jude gives a half smile, lips quirking the tiniest bit when he says, “She’s showing me a tray of—” He pauses, squinting as he continues, “brownies. She wants to know if you enjoyed them?”

  I freeze, remembering the brownies Sabine made a few weeks ago, and how the smallest piece was marked with my initial, the largest with Riley’s, just like she used to do back when my mom used to make them—

  I look at Jude, throat so tight no words can get past. Struggling to compose myself as he says, “She also wants to know if you enjoyed the movie—the one she showed you in—”

  Summerland. I close my eyes, fighting back tears, wondering if my blabbermouth sister is going to tell him about that, but he just shrugs, and ends it right there.

  “Tell her—” I start, voice so hoarse and scratchy I’m forced to clear my throat and start again. “Tell her yes to everything—all of it. And tell her that—that I love her—and miss her—and to please say hi to Mom and Dad—and that she really needs to help me find a way so I can talk to her again—because I need—”

  “That’s where I come in,” he says, voice quiet, subdued, eyes seeking mine. “She wants me to be our go-between since she can’t speak directly to you—at least not outside of your dreams. Though she wants you to know she can always hear you.”

  I look at him, skepticism taking over again. Our go-between? Would Riley really want that? Does that mean she trusts him? And if so, why? Does she know about our past? And what’s that about our dreams—last time she appeared in my dream it was more like a nightmare. A riddle-filled nightmare that didn’t make any sense.

  I look at Jude again, wondering if I can trust him—if he’s somehow making this up? Maybe the twins told him—maybe he Googled the accident and—

  “She’s leaving,” he says, nodding as he smiles and waves good-bye at my supposedly invisible sister. “Would you like to say anything before she goes?”

  I grip the sides of my seat, gazing down at the desk as I struggle to breathe. The space feeling suddenly cramped, confined, as though the ceiling is dropping as the walls cave in. Having no idea if I can trust him, if Riley is here, if any of this is even real.

  All I know is that I need to get out of here.

  Get some air.

  His voice calling after me as I spring from the desk and bolt for the door—having no idea where I’m headed, but hoping it’s vast, open, far from him.

  thirty-seven

  I run out the door and head for the beach, heart racing, mind spinning, forgetting to slow down to a more normal speed until I’m already there. Toes tipped toward the water, a cloud of sand and bewildered people left in my wake. Each of them squinting and shaking their heads, telling themselves they imagined it, couldn’t possibly be. No one can run that fast.

  No one who appears as normal as me.

  I abandon my flip-flops and wade farther in, at first stopping to roll the hem of my jeans, then deciding not to care when a wave comes and wets them to my knees. Just wanting to feel something—something tangible, physical—a problem with an obvious fix. Unlike the kind I’ve been wrestling with.

  And though I’m no stranger to loneliness, I’ve never felt quite as lonely as this. I’ve always had someone to go to. Sabine—Riley—Damen—my friends—but now with my entire family gone, Sabine busy with Munoz, my boyfriend on a break, and friends I can’t confide in—what’s the point?

  What’s the point of having these powers, the ability to manipulate energy and manifest things, if I can’t manifest the one thing I really want?

  What’s the point of seeing ghosts when I can’t see the ones who actually mean something to me?

  What’s the point of living forever if I’m forced to live it like this?

  I go deeper, ’til I’m up to mid-thigh, never having felt so alone on such an overcrowded beach, so helpless on such a bright and sunny day. Refusing to budge when he comes up from behind, grasping my shoulder and trying to pull me away from the waves. Enjoying the slam of water as it wets my skin, the ceaseless push and pull, luring me in.

  “Hey.” His eyes narrowed against the sun as he studies me closely, refusing to loosen his grip ’til he’s sure I’m okay. “What do you say we head back inside?” Voice calm, careful, as though I’m fragile, delicate, capable of doing just about anything.

  I swallow hard and hold my ground, gaze fixed on the horizon when I say, “If you were joking—if you were in any way playing me—” I shake my head, unable to finish, but the threat is implied.

  “Never.” He squeezes tighter, holding me steady, pulling me up and over a small oncoming wave. “You read me, Ever. That very first day. You know what I can do—what I can see.” I take a deep breath, about to speak when he adds, “And just so you know, she’s been with you several times since. Not every time, but most of them. Though this is the first time she spoke.”

  “And why is that?” I turn, gaze meeting his. Having no real reason not to believe, but needing to be as sure as I can.

  “I guess she wanted to build a little trust.” He shrugs. “Not unlike you.”

  I look at him, gaze into those sea green eyes, the truth laid open, bared for me to see. He’s not lying, not at all playing, certainly not making it up. He really does see Riley, and his only agenda is to help.

  “I think this is why we found each other.” He nods, voice lowered to almost a whisper. “I wonder if Riley arranged this?”

  Riley or—something else—something greater than us? I stare at the ocean, wondering if he recognizes me like I recognize him. If he feels the ping in the gut, the prickle of skin, the strange yet familiar pull—the same things I feel? And if so, what does it mean? Do we really have unfinished business—karma that must be addressed?

  Is there really no such thing as coincidence?

  “I can teach you,” he says, gaze like a promise he wants to fulfill. “There’s no guarantee—but I can try.”

  I remove myself from his grip and wade farther in, not caring that my bottom half’s soaking while the rest of me’s dry.

  “Everyone has the ability. Just like everyone’s psychic—or at the very least intuitive. It’s just a matter of how open one is, how willing to let go and learn. But with your gifts—there’s no reason why you can’t learn to see her too.”

  I glance at him, but only briefly, something’s caught my attention—something that—

  “The trick is to raise your vibration—getting it to a level where—”

  We don’t see the wave until it’s already cresting, leaving us no time to duck dive or at the very least run. The only thing keeping me from a complete and total wipeout are Jude’s incredibly fast reflexes and the strength of his arms.

  “You okay?” he asks, gaze boring into mine.

  But my attention’s elsewhere, drawn to that warm wonderful pull, the familiar loving essence that only belongs to one person—only belongs to him—

  Watching as Damen cuts through the water, board tucked under his arm, body so sculpted, so bronzed, Rembrandt would weep. Water sluicing behind him like a hot knife through butter, cleanly, fluidly, as though parting the sea.

  My lips part, desperate to speak, to call out his name and b
ring him back to me. But just as I’m about to, my eyes meet his and I see what he sees: me—hair tangled and wet—clothes twisted and clinging—frolicking in the ocean on a hot sunny day with Jude’s tanned strong arms still wrapped around me.

  I release myself from Jude’s grip, but it’s too late. Damen’s already seen me.

  Already moved on.

  Leaving me hollow, breathless, as I watch him retreat.

  No tulips, no telepathic message, just a sad, empty void left behind in his place.

  thirty-eight

  Jude follows me out of the water and halfway down the beach, calling after me, trying to keep up, finally surrendering when I cross the street and head toward the store where Haven works.

  I need to talk to someone, confide in a friend. Put it all out there and unburden myself, no matter the cost.

  Immune to the weight of my soaking wet jeans, the slap of fabric, my clinging, damp tee—not even thinking about manifesting something dry to wear until I get to the door and find Roman there.

  “Sorry, no shoes, no shirt, no service.” He smiles. “Though I must say, I am enjoying the view.”

  I follow his gaze all the way down to my chest, covering it with my arms when I see how my top has gone pretty much see-thru.

  “I need to talk to Haven.” I start to push past him only to be blocked once again.

  “Ever, please. This is a classy establishment. Maybe you should come back when you’re a little more—pulled together.”

  I peer over his shoulder, catching a glimpse of a fairly large space so opulent, so packed with stuff, it’s like the inside of Genie’s bottle. Crystal chandeliers hanging from the rafters, iron sconces and framed oil paintings marking the walls, while the floors are covered with colorful, woven, overlapping rugs as antique furnishings butt up against rack after rack of vintage clothing and tall glass display cases filled with trinkets and jewelry.

  “Just tell me if she’s here.” I glare, patience running thin as he looks me over and smirks. Trying to tune into her energy and assuming he’s blocking me when I don’t get very far.