Dark Flame

by Alyson Noel

  Our eyes meet.

  “Then Roman has something I really need you to get.”

  three

  “How’d it go?”

  Damen opens the door before I can knock. His gaze deep and intense as he follows me into the den where I drop onto his plush velour couch and kick off my flip-flops. Careful to avoid his eyes as he lands on the cushion beside me, usually all too eager to spend the rest of eternity just gazing at him—taking in the fine planes of his face—his high sculpted cheekbones, lush inviting lips, the slant of his brow, his dark wavy hair, and thick fringe of lashes—but not today.

  Today I’d prefer to look just about anywhere else.

  “So, you told her?” His fingers trail along the side of my cheek, the curve of my ear, his touch filling me with tingle and heat despite the ever-present energy veil that hovers between us. “Did the cupcake provide the distraction you hoped it would?” His lips nip at my lobe before working their way down my neck.

  I lean back against the cushions, closing my eyes in a feigned bout of fatigue. But the truth is, I don’t want him to see me, to observe me too closely. Don’t want him to sense my thoughts, my essence, my energy—that strange, foreign pulse that’s been stirring inside me for the last several days.

  “Hardly.” I sigh. “She pretty much ignored it—guess she’s like us now—in more ways than one.” Feeling the weight of his gaze as he studies me intensely.

  “Care to elaborate?”

  I scrunch down even lower and toss my leg over his, my breath slowing as I settle into the warmth of his energy. “She’s just—so far advanced. I mean, she has the whole look, you know? That eerie, flawless, immortal look. She even heard my thoughts—until I blocked them.” I frown and shake my head.

  “Eerie? Is that how you see it—see us?” Clearly distressed by my words.

  “Well—not really eerie.” I pause, wondering why I phrased it like that. “More like—not normal. I mean, I doubt even supermodels look that perfect all the time. Not to mention, what are we gonna do if she grows four inches practically overnight like I did? How do we possibly explain that?”

  “Same way we did with you,” he says, eyes narrowed, cautious, more interested in the words I’m not saying than the ones that I am. “We’ll call it a growth spurt. They’re not that uncommon among mortals, you know.” His voice lifts in a weak attempt at levity that doesn’t quite work.

  I avert my gaze, taking in the crowded bookshelves filled with leather-bound first editions, the abstract oil paintings, most of them priceless originals, knowing he’s onto me. He knows something’s up, but I’m hoping he can’t sense just how far it goes. That I’m just saying the words, going through the motions, not really invested in any of this.

  “And so—does she hate you like you feared?” he asks, voice steady, deep, the slightest bit probing.

  I peer at him, this wonderful glorious creature who’s loved me for the last four hundred years and continues to do so no matter how many blunders I make, no matter how many lives I mess up. Sighing as I close my eyes and manifest a single red tulip that I promptly hand over. Serving not just as the symbol of our undying love, but also the winning wager in the bet that we made.

  “You were right—you win.” I shake my head, remembering how she reacted just like he said. “She’s thrilled beyond belief. Can’t thank me enough. Feels just like a rock star. No—scratch that, better than a rock star. She feels like a vampire rock star. But you know, the new and improved kind—without all that nasty bloodsucking and coffin sleeping.” I shake my head and smile in spite of myself.

  “A member of the mythical undead?” Damen cringes, not liking the analogy one bit. “I’m not sure how I feel about that.”

  “Oh, I’m sure it’s just a side effect of her recent goth phase. The thrill will die down eventually. You know, once the reality sinks in.”

  “Is that how it is for you?” he asks, finger just under my chin, making me look at him again. “Is the thrill dying down—or perhaps even—gone?” His gaze deep, knowing, attuned to every shift of my mood. “Is that why you find it so hard to look at me now?”

  “No!” I shake my head, fully aware that I’ve been caught and desperate to refute it. “I’m just—tired. I’ve been feeling a little—on edge lately, that’s all.” I nuzzle closer, burying my face in the hollow of his neck, right next to where the cord for his amulet rests. That edgy prickly feeling I’ve been carrying for days, tempering, melting, as I inhale his warm musky scent over and over again. “Why can’t every moment be like this?” I murmur, knowing what I really mean is: Why can’t I always be like this—feel like this?

  Why is everything changing?

  “It can.” He shrugs. “There’s really no reason why it can’t.”

  I pull away and meet his gaze. “Oh, I can think of at least two very good reasons.”

  Nodding toward Romy and Rayne, the twin terrors we’re now responsible for as they bound down the stairs. Identical in their straight dark hair with razor-slashed bangs, pale skin, and large dark eyes—but complete opposites in their dress. Romy wearing a pink terry cloth sundress with matching flip-flops, while Rayne’s barefoot and dressed in all black, with Luna, their tiny black kitten, riding high on her shoulder. The two of them shooting Damen a happy, warm smile and glaring at me—business as usual, and pretty much the only thing that hasn’t changed around here.

  “They’ll come around,” he says, wanting to believe it and wishing I would too.

  “No they won’t.” I sigh, fumbling for my flip-flops. “But then, it’s not like they don’t have their reasons.” I slip on my shoes and look at him.

  “Leaving so soon?”

  I nod, avoiding his gaze. “Sabine’s making dinner, Munoz is coming over—it’s a whole bonding thing. She wants us to get to know each other better. You know, less student teacher, more future nonblood relations.” I shrug, realizing the instant it’s out that I should’ve invited him. It’s incredibly rude not to include him. But Damen’s presence will only mess with my other evening plans. The ones he may suspect but can’t possibly witness. Especially after making his feelings on my foray into magick so abundantly clear. Tacking on an awkward, “So—you know . . .” and leaving it to hang there, dangling between us, since I’ve no idea where to take it from there.

  “And Roman?”

  I take a deep breath as my eyes meet his. The moment I’ve been avoiding is now here.

  “Did you warn Haven? Tell her what he did?”

  I nod. Recalling the speech I practiced in the car all the way over, about how Haven could be our best chance to get what we need from Roman. Hoping it’ll sound better to his ears than it did mine.

  “And?”

  I clear my throat, allowing myself that, but nothing more.

  He waits for me to continue, the patience of six hundred years stamped on his face, as I open my mouth to launch into my speech, but I can’t. He knows me too well. So instead, I just lift my shoulders and sigh, knowing words are unnecessary, the answer’s displayed in my gaze.

  “I see.” He nods, his tone smooth, even, without a trace of judgment, which kind of disappoints me. I mean, I’m judging me, so why isn’t he?

  “But—it’s really not like you think,” I say. “It’s not like I didn’t try to warn her, but she wouldn’t listen. So I figured, what the heck. If she’s going to insist on hanging with Roman, then what’s the harm in her trying to snag the antidote while she’s at it? And I know you think it’s wrong, believe me, we’ve been over that, but I still don’t think it’s all that big a deal.”

  He looks at me, face calm, still, betraying nothing.

  “Besides, it’s not like we actually have any real proof that he would’ve let her die. I mean, he had the antidote all along, he knew what I’d choose. But even if I did prove him wrong, how do we know he wouldn’t have given her the elixir himself?” I take a deep breath, hardly believing I’m borrowing Haven’s argument, the same one I balked at just
a few moments earlier. “And then—maybe he even would’ve tried to turn the whole thing around! You know, tell her we were prepared to let her die and end up turning her against us! Did you ever think of that?”

  “No. I suppose I didn’t,” he says, lids narrowed, concern clouding his face.

  “And it’s not like I’m not gonna monitor the situation cuz I totally am. I’ll make sure she’s safe. But she does have free will, you know, it’s not like we can choose her friends for her, so I figured, you know, when in Rome . . . and all . . . so to speak . . .”

  “And what about the romantic feelings Haven holds toward Roman? Did you consider that?”

  I shrug, my words containing a conviction I don’t really feel when I say, “She used to have feelings for you too if you’ll remember. She seemed to get over that pretty quickly. And don’t forget about Josh, the guy she was convinced was her soul mate who got booted over a kitten. And now that she’s in a position to have pretty much whatever or whoever she wants—” I pause, but only for a moment, not long enough for him to interject. “I’m sure Roman will lose his allure and slide way down on her list. I mean, I know she can seem kind of fragile, but she’s actually a lot tougher than you think.”

  I stand, signaling an end to this conversation. What’s done is done and I don’t want him to do or say anything that’ll make me doubt my stance on Haven and Roman’s relationship any more than I already do.

  He hesitates, gaze moving over me, taking me in, then rises in one, quick, languid move as he grasps my hand and leads me to the door, where he presses his lips against mine. Lingering, fusing, pushing, melding, the two of us drawing this kiss out for as long as we can, neither one willing to break away first.

  I press hard against him, the contours of his body barely dimmed by that ever-present energy veil that hovers between us. The broad expanse of his chest, the valley of his torso—every inch of him conforming so tightly to me it’s nearly impossible to tell where he ends and I begin. Wishing this kiss could do the impossible—banish my mistakes—this strange way I feel—chase away the dark angry cloud that follows me everywhere these days.

  “I should go,” I whisper, the first to break the spell, aware of the heat rising between us, that incendiary pull, a painful reminder that, for now anyway, this is as far as it goes.

  And just as I’ve settled into my car and Damen’s gone back inside, Rayne appears, Luna still perched on her shoulder, twin sister Romy at her side.

  “Tonight’s the night. Moon’s moving into a new phase,” she says, eyes narrowed, lips grim. No other words necessary, we all know what that means.

  I nod and shift into reverse, ready to back down the drive, when she adds, “You know what to do, right? You remember our plan?”

  I nod again, hating the fact that I’m in this position, knowing that as far as they’re concerned, I’ll never live this one down.

  Backing out of the drive and onto the street, their thoughts chasing behind me, burrowing into my mind, as they think: It’s wrong to use magick for selfish, nefarious reasons. There’s karma to pay, and it’ll come back times three.

  four

  The first thing I see when I pull into the drive is Munoz’s silver Prius. Which, to be honest, pretty much makes me want to turn around and go just about anywhere else. But I don’t. I just sigh and pull into the garage instead. Knowing I’ve no choice but to face it.

  Face the fact that my aunt/legal guardian is falling hard for my history teacher.

  Face the fact that it’s a heckuva lot better to sit around the dinner table than the breakfast table, which, if things continue to progress at the rapid pace that they are, then it’s just a matter of time before it’s: Good-bye Mr. Munoz, hello Uncle Paul! I’ve seen it. It’s as good as done. Now I’m just waiting for them to realize it too.

  I slip through the side door, tiptoeing lightly, hoping to make it up to my room without being seen so I can have some time to myself—time that I desperately need in order to set some things straight.

  Poised and ready to dash up the stairs when Sabine pokes her head around the corner and says, “Oh good, I thought I heard your car in the garage. We’re going to eat in about half an hour, but why don’t you come in and visit a bit beforehand.”

  I peer over her shoulder in search of Munoz, but thanks to the wall that separates us from the den, all I can see are a pair of leather man-sandals perched on the overstuffed ottoman, appearing so relaxed and casual it’s as if they don’t belong anywhere else but that very spot. Switching my gaze to her and taking in the sweep of her shoulder-length blond hair, the flush at her cheeks, her sparkling blue eyes, and renewing my vow to be happy that she’s happy—even though I’m not exactly thrilled with the reason behind it.

  “I’m—I’ll be down in a bit,” I say, forcing a smile. “I’m just gonna wash up—and stuff . . .” My gaze drifts back to Munoz, unable to tear it away no matter how disturbing the view. I mean seriously, just because it’s summer doesn’t mean I should have to look at faculty feet in my own house.

  “Okay, well, don’t take too long.” She starts to turn, hair swinging over her shoulder as she adds, “Oh, and I almost forgot, this came for you.”

  She swipes a cream-colored envelope off the side table and offers it to me. The words mystics & moonbeams printed in purple on the top left corner, my name and address in Jude’s angular scribble scrawled across the front.

  I just stand there and stare, knowing I could grab it, place my hand on the front, and intuit the contents without ever having to unseal it. But the thing is, I don’t want to touch it, don’t want anything to do with it, the job I once held, or Jude, the boss who, as it just so happens, played a significant role in pretty much all of my lives. Reappearing again and again, always managing to claim my affections until Damen showed up and swept me away. A centuries-old love triangle that ended the second I saw his Ouroboros tattoo last Thursday night.

  And even though Damen claims that lots of people have them—that its original meaning wasn’t at all evil, that Roman and Drina just made it that way, I can’t take the chance that he’s wrong.

  Can’t take the chance that Jude’s not one of them, when I’m pretty dang sure that he is.

  “Ever?” Sabine tilts her head, shooting me her usual look that says: No matter how many books I read on the subject, adolescents may as well be aliens. A look I know all too well.

  A look that prompts me to snatch the envelope right out of her hand, careful to handle it by its edges as I smile weakly and tackle the stairs. Hands shaking, body thrumming, as the contents reveal themselves to be a paycheck I definitely earned but have no intention of cashing, along with a brief note asking if I’ll please let him know if I’ve no plans to return so that he can hire another psychic to replace me.

  That’s it.

  No: What the heck happened?

  Or: Why did you go from nearly kissing me to tossing me across your yard and into the patio furniture?

  But that’s because he already knows. He’s known all along. And while I may not know just what he’s up to, he’s clearly up to something. He may be ahead of the game for the moment, but unbeknownst to him, I’m about to catch up.

  I toss the envelope toward the trash, figuring my lack of response should be answer enough. Directing it in a complicated choreography of loops and circles and one very perfect, spot-on figure eight, before bringing it down with a soft, barely heard thud and heading into my walk-in closet where I retrieve the box from the top shelf—the one that holds my supplies—everything I need to undo what I’ve done.

  The time is right—providing for a fresh new start, the perfect opportunity (the only opportunity according to Romy and Rayne) to break the spell I unwittingly cast when I accidentally summoned the dark powers to aid me. The moon is now waxing, which means the goddess is rising, making her ascent, as Hecate, the one I mistakenly called upon before, plummets to the underworld where she’ll mark her time until a month from now when it all c
omes full circle again.

  I reach into the box, retrieving the candles, crystals, herbs, oils, and incense I’ll need, taking a moment to organize them neatly and placing them in the order in which they’ll be used. Then I shed my clothes and lower myself into the tub for my ritual bath, bringing along a sachet filled with angelica for protection and hex removal, juniper for the banishing of negative entities, and rue to aid in healing, mental powers, and the breaking of curses, along with a few drops of petitgrain oil that promises to banish evil and remove all negativity. Sinking all the way down ’til my feet hit the far edge and the water fills up around me, grabbing a few clear quartz crystals from the ledge and plopping them in too, as I chant:

  I cleanse and reclaim this body of mine

  So that my magick may properly bind

  My spirit reborn, now ready for flight

  Allowing my magick to take hold tonight.

  But unlike the last time I indulged in a soak, I don’t envision Roman before me. I don’t want to see him until I’m ready, until it’s absolutely necessary. Until it’s truly time to undo what I’ve done.

  Any earlier is a risk I can’t take.

  Ever since the dreams began, I can’t trust myself.

  The first night I woke in that cold, clammy sweat with images of Roman still dancing in my head, I was sure it was just a result of the horrible night that I’d had—learning the truth about Jude—turning Haven by giving her the juice. But the fact that they’ve returned every night since, the fact that he intrudes not just in my night dreams but in my daydreams as well, the fact that they’re accompanied by this weird, foreign pulse that’s constantly strumming inside me—well, it’s pretty much convinced me that Romy and Rayne are right.

  Despite my feeling perfectly fine just after the spell was complete, later, when everything began to unravel, it became pretty clear that the damage I’d done was nothing short of major.