by Alyson Noel
And when he narrows his gaze even further, I know he’s trying to reach me telepathically, to communicate in a way that’s no longer an option—or at least not here anyways.
So I turn, turn toward the window, desperate to shield him from the horrible truth that I can no longer hear him. No longer have access to his thoughts, his energy, or even the tingle and heat his touch used to bring.
All of that’s gone. Eradicated. The beast has taken it from me.
But only here. In Summerland I’ll be rested, clear-skinned, just like the old me. And the two of us together will be everything we were ever meant to be.
“Just come with me,” I plead, my voice hoarse and weak. “I can explain—but only there, not here. Please?”
He looks at me and sighs. Torn between wanting to please me and doing what he thinks best.
“No,” he says in a way so unequivocal, so nonnegotiable, there’s no mistaking what it means.
Not only is it a no to Summerland, it’s a no to me. A no to the one and only thing that I need.
He shakes his head, face heavy with regret when he adds, “Ever, I’m sorry, really I am, but no. We’re not going. I think it’s better if we head home, back to my house, where we can sit down and have a nice long talk, get to the bottom of just what exactly is going on with you.”
I sit beside him, hollow-eyed, zit-faced, twitchy and edgy, barely able to contain myself, barely holding it together as he makes a long verbal list of concerns. How I haven’t been myself lately, how I don’t even look like myself anymore, how much I’ve changed in every way, shape, and form—not one of these changes for the better.
But the truth is, the words sail right over me, like a vague and distant hum. I’m going to Summerland, with or without him, there’s really no choice in the matter.
“Are you drinking your elixir? Do you need a new supply? Ever, please, talk to me—what’s going on?”
I close my eyes and shake my head, blinking back the threat of tears, unable to explain that I can’t stop this runaway train. I’m no longer the conductor in charge of this thing.
He narrows his gaze, making one last attempt to reach me telepathically, but it’s no use. I couldn’t guess the message if I tried. My system is fried.
“You can’t even hear me anymore, can you?”
He stops at a lighted crosswalk and reaches toward me again, but if nothing else I’m still light on my feet and quickly jump out of the car. My arms wrapped so tightly around me they’re about to go numb. My fingers twitching, body thrumming, knowing if I don’t get out of here quick, I’ll have no choice but to go find him. Roman. No choice at all.
“Listen,” I say, voice tremulous, completely unsteady, but knowing I need to get this settled either way, I’m down to the wire, I’ve no time to waste. “I’ll explain when we get there—I swear. Just—it has to be there—not here. So—you coming or not?” I clench my jaw and grit my teeth, trying to keep them from chattering, keep my lips from trembling in a way he can’t miss.
He swallows hard, brow slanted, eyes saddened, the word requiring a great deal of effort when he says, “Not,” so quietly I almost missed it. Then repeating it again when he adds, “I’d much rather stay here and get you some help.”
I look at him, look at him for as long as I can stand, which, truth be told, isn’t long at all. Wanting so badly to climb back into his nice warm car and hug him in the way that I used to, to feel his arms wrapped around me, to be soothed by his tingle and heat, and confess all my sins ’til they’re washed away clean. But unfortunately that sentiment comes from the smallest part of me—the small glimmer of sanity that’s quickly crushed by the part that prefers its fruit dirty, evil, and the more forbidden the better.
So, instead, I just nod, seeing his look of astonishment as I close my eyes and picture the portal—that glorious, shimmering portal. Stepping right through as I say, “Oh well, guess I’ll go it alone then.”
fourteen
I land on my butt. Crash-land smack dab in front of the replica of that beautiful eighteenth-century palace where French royalty lived. But I don’t go inside. Even though I begged to come to this very place, I can’t bear to enter without Damen. It’s our place. A place we share. A place where some of my fondest memories live. And there’s no way I’ll go there without him.
I get to my feet and brush myself off, glancing around as I try to get my bearings and determine my whereabouts. Knowing I could just imagine a destination and find myself magically there, but I’d rather walk, stroll at my leisure and take my sweet time. Enjoy the fact that I’m freed from the beast—even though it’s probably just coiled up somewhere, just biding its time ’til I leave. But for now I’m determined to enjoy some relief.
I raise my hands before me, waving them through the shimmering mist, the hazy glow that originates from everywhere and nowhere. Soothed by the comfortably cool air that wafts over my skin, trusting I’ll eventually end up somewhere great—somewhere I really want to be. That’s the beauty of Summerland—all roads lead to good.
Stopping to pause by the rainbow-colored stream that cuts through the vast fragrant field, I quickly manifest a small handheld mirror to check out my appearance. Relieved to see my eyes now returned to their normal bright blue, my hair back to a shining, lustrous shade of light golden blond, and my skin—my skin is virtually poreless and clear, while the circles that lived under my eyes are now gone. And I wish Damen could see me like this—looking like the old me—the me I used to be. Saddened to think his last memory is of that monstrous creation—the beast of my making. If he’d only agreed to come, I could’ve explained everything.
I wander through the field of shivering trees and pulsating flowers, the scent of those vibrant petals following me until I stumble upon the familiar paved road that leads into town and the Great Halls of Learning, where I decide to try my luck once again. And even though it was no help at all the last time I was there, it’s a new day, a new, regenerated me, and I’ve got every reason to believe this time will be different.
I make my way past a collection of trendy boutiques, a movie theater, and a hair salon, crossing the street just in front of the art gallery, and passing a guy hawking candles, flowers, and small wooden toys, as I make my way through mobs of people all going about their business, an interesting mixture of the living and dead. Turning onto the empty alleyway that leads to the quiet boulevard that brings me to the steep swath of stairs I quickly scale. My gaze fixed on those impressive front doors, knowing there’s still one more step that must be completed.
I stand before the Great Halls, taking in its elaborate carvings, imposing columns, and grand sloping roof—gazing upon a temple constructed purely of love, knowledge, and everything good. Anticipating the usual flicker of images, the Parthenon morphing into the Taj Mahal into the Lotus Temple into the great pyramids of Giza and so on—all the world’s most beautiful and sacred places seamlessly blending, reshaping, and reforming from one to the next—but it doesn’t come. I don’t see anything. Nothing but the impressive marble building that stands proud before me—the images required for entry, invisible to me.
I’m blacklisted.
Condemned.
Barred from entering the one and only place that can help me fix this mess that I’m in.
Even after I try to fake it, forcing myself to replay the images in the order I remember them, it won’t budge. The Great Halls of Learning will not be fooled by the lowly likes of me.
I sink onto the steps and drop my head in my hands, hardly believing what I’ve become, just how low I’ve sunk. Wondering if this is what rock bottom feels like, surely being a Summerland reject is as bad as it gets.
“Scuse me!”
I scoot to the side and pull my legs in, wondering why Ms. Bossy Boots can’t just move around me. I mean, seriously, I may be five eight, but it’s not like I’m taking up all that much space.
My face still hidden by the palms of my hands, not wanting to be seen by some s
uperior Summerland interloper who has access to all the greatest buildings, when:
“Wait—Ever?”
I freeze. I know that voice. Know it all too well.
“Ever—is that really you?”
I lift my head slowly, reluctant to meet Ava’s gaze. The mere sight of her thick auburn hair and large brown eyes stirring something—something on the periphery that I can’t quite grasp—can’t quite make sense of. But it’s not like it matters, because the truth is, she’s pretty much the last person I wanted to see today, or any other day for that matter. But still, why here, why now, haven’t I been punished enough?
“Trying to con your way in?” I ask, voice dripping with sarcasm as I harshly look her over. Realizing just after it’s out that that’s pretty much what I was just trying to do a few moments earlier, and horrified to realize that I’ve sunk so low I’m now equal with her.
She kneels down beside me, head tilted, regarding me closely when she says, “Are you okay?” Her gaze moving over me carefully, intently, almost as though she really does care.
But I know better. Ava only cares for one person—and that’s Ava. As far as she’s concerned, no one else is worth the bother. She proved that when she left Damen to die just after promising me she’d help him.
I look her over, surprised to see how she doesn’t look so different than she did before she ran off with the elixir, but then again, she was starting from a pretty good place, so maybe she didn’t require all that big a change.
“Am I okay?” I mimic, nailing her sugary-sweet, oh-so-concerned tone. Smirking when I add, “Well, I suppose I am. I suppose I’m just really and truly okay. All things considered anyway. Though I’m sure I’m not near as okay as you.” I shrug. “But then again, who is?”
My eyes travel to her neck, in search of a telltale Ouroboros tattoo or some other sign of her new status as an immortal rogue. Surprised to see that not only is she free of all markings but also that her usual tangle of flashy, manifested jewelry has been pared down to a single, raw citrine hanging from a simple silver chain. Squinting as I struggle to recall what I’ve learned about that particular stone—something about it promoting abundance and joy and—oh yes, protecting all seven chakras—well, no wonder she’s wearing it.
I press my lips together and heave an audible sigh, shooting her a look that leaves no room for doubt about just how I feel about her. “I mean, now that you’ve got the whole world at your feet—no one’s doing better than you, right? So tell me, Ava, how does it feel? How does it feel to be the new, improved you? Was it worth betraying your friends for?”
She looks at me, eyes pulled down at the corners, concern clouding her face. “You’ve got it all wrong,” she says. “It’s not at all what you think!”
I rise to my feet, feeling shaky, off, but doing my best to hide it from her. Determined to leave her behind, unwilling to hear any more lies.
“I didn’t take the elixir, Ever—I—”
I turn, eyes flashing with anger when I say, “You’re unbelievable! Of course you took the elixir! Hel-lo, I came back. See?” I tug on my T-shirt and shake my head. “As it turns out, Ava, nothing went as we’d planned. No—correction, it may not have gone as I planned, but it certainly went as you planned. You left Damen alone, weak and defenseless, just as you’d planned all along. You left him just lying there, vulnerable, dying, right where Roman could get to him. And then, as if that wasn’t enough, you paired up again that night with Haven, brewed a nice cup of belladonna tea for her to drink.” I shake my head, wondering why I’m even bothering with this, bothering with her. She’s taken enough from me already. I shouldn’t give her any more.
I head down the stairs, legs heavy, leaden, as though they’re reluctant to cooperate with the signals my brain clearly sends.
Struggling to place one foot before the other when she says, “I wish you wouldn’t do that. I wish you’d give me a chance to explain.”
But I just shrug it off and continue on my way, calling over my shoulder when I say, “Yeah, well, you can’t always get what you want—you remember that song, right?”
She stands behind me, so quiet and still I can’t help but glance over my shoulder to see what she’s up to. My muscles tensed and poised just in case she’s planning to attack, and surprised to find her with palms pressed together, bowing before me as her lips move in a whispered “Namaste.”
Pausing briefly before turning toward the building, leaving me gaping, speechless, as those grand, imposing doors open before her and welcome her in.
fifteen
“Hey.”
I look up, surprised to see Jude standing before me, so engrossed in my work I didn’t even hear him come in.
“How do you do that?” I squint, taking in his aura, now beaming a nice shade of blue.
“Do what?” He leans against the counter and looks me over.
“Always manage to sneak up on me like that?” My gaze rests on his black tee, curious to see who’s being featured today. “What’s that?” I motion toward it.
He closes his eyes and lifts his hands before him, attempting to draw his index fingers toward his thumbs but not getting very far before he gives up and chants, “Ommmmmmm,” the sound coming from deep within his diaphragm. Peeking at me when he adds, “It’s the sound of existence—the sound of the universe.”
I scrunch my nose, having no idea what he’s getting at.
“The universe is made up of vibrating, pulsating energy, right?”
I nod. “So I’ve been told.”
“Okay, so Om is thought to be the sound of that energy—that vast, cosmic energy. You’ve never heard that before? Don’t you meditate?”
I shrug. I used to meditate. Used to cleanse my aura. Pretend roots were growing from the soles of my feet deep into the center of the earth and all sorts of feel-good nonsense like that. But not anymore. I mean, it’s not like I have time to sit around observing my breath when my entire world is collapsing around me.
“You really should get back into it, you know. It really helps to balance and heal, not to mention how it—”
“And is it healing you?” I look pointedly at his arms, still debating whether or not to act on the idea I had the other night, adding up the pros and cons and still not coming any closer to a decision.
“Got a doctor appointment a bit later, so I guess we’ll find out.” He shrugs, eyes roving over me when he adds, “And speaking of—” Our gaze meets. “I was wondering if you could give me a lift. I could take the bus, but then I’ll have to cut class a little short and I prefer not to do that, you know?”
“Class?” I look at him, drawing a blank.
“Yeah, you know, Psychic Development 101 with an emphasis on self-empowerment and Wicca—surely you remember?” He laughs.
I nod, rising from the stool, gladly giving it over to him. “How’s that going, anyway?” I make my way around the counter so that he can take my place.
“Okay.” He nods. “Your friend Honor seems to have a real knack for it.”
I stop. Stop everything. He’s got my full attention now. “Honor?”
He shrugs. “Yeah, you know. I thought you guys were friends?”
I shake my head, remembering what I observed on the last day of school, and the plans Honor has for a major Stacia coup. “We’re classmates.” I shrug, pressing against the wall and allowing him to pass. “Not really friends. Trust me, there’s a difference.”
He stops—stops when he should keep moving. Stops in a way that practically pins him against me. His eyes searching my face in a way that never fails to send an immediate flood of calm through my system—the first calm I’ve felt in—days. Not since before I left Summerland. After Summerland, all I could think about was Ava and how she managed to con her way in. And even though it only lasts a few seconds, even though he soon moves past me and onto the stool, the impact, the calming charge of his presence still lingers.
“She’s either applying herself in a really big
way or she’s got a real knack for magick,” he says, grabbing the box of receipts with two of his good fingers and awkwardly flipping through it. “Seems pretty single-minded though, so my guess is the former.”
I squint, trying to recall what I know about Honor, but other than her position as Craig’s girlfriend and Stacia’s disgruntled BFF, it’s not much.
I look at Jude, wondering if I should tell him that from what I saw that day when I peeked inside her head that Honor’s intentions aren’t all that—honorable. But it’s not like Stacia’s ever done me (or anyone else for that matter) any favors, so who am I to get involved?
“So, what time does class start?” I ask, deciding to stick to the practical as I make my way toward the back room.
“In an hour. Why?” He glances over his shoulder.
“I’ll be in the back until you need me,” I say, slinking into the office and shutting the door behind me. Retrieving The Book from its hiding place and slapping it onto the old wood desk. Taking a moment for a few deep, cleansing breaths before I hunch over it, tracing my fingers across the elaborate gold inscription on its front, debating whether or not I should do this.
The last time I visited this tome, things didn’t go so well. And now that I know about Roman’s connection to it—well, I’m no longer sure I can trust it. Because if he really is responsible for it ending up in my hands, then my reading it now would only make me (yet again!) a pawn in his plans. But then, if he does have influence over these pages, then maybe there’s a clue buried somewhere, a clue as to how this game ends or how he plans to win.
Maybe, just like the akashic records in Summerland, it’s all about asking the right kind of questions.
But while the akashic records permits only the worthy within its grand halls, The Book of Shadows only requires a code, followed by a coded question, preferably in rhyme.
So after softly chanting the rhyme Romy and Rayne taught me: