Dark Flame

by Alyson Noel

  I shake my head, throat hot and tight, unable to speak. Well aware that in his conscious mind, he’s creating a harmless fairy tale, but unable to shake the feeling that this particular tale just might go a whole lot deeper than he thinks.

  “Well, the two of them enjoyed a long, luxurious, and deliriously happy life—until they both died of old age and reincarnated so they can have the pleasure of finding each other and doing it all over again.”

  “And the gondolier? What happened to him—you?” I ask, unsure if I really want to hear. “I mean surely there’s a reward for bringing two soul mates together?”

  He shrugs, averting his gaze, back to rowing again. “The gondolier is destined to repeat the same pathetic scene over and over again, always pining after what is clearly meant for someone else. Same script, different time and place. Story of my life—or lives as the case may be.”

  And even though he laughs, it’s not an invitation for me to join in. It’s solitary, uninviting, too burdened with truth to leave any room for humor. His little story veering so unbelievably close to the truth of him and me, I can’t even speak.

  My gaze travels over him, wondering if I should tell him—about me—about us—but what good would it do? Maybe Damen was right when he said we’re not meant to remember our past lives, that life is not meant to be an open-book test. We all have our own karma, our own obstacles to overcome, and apparently, like it or not, maybe I’m one of Jude’s.

  I clear my throat, deciding to put an end to all this and get to the third reason we came here. The one I hadn’t really thought about until now. Hoping it’ll benefit both of us, and praying I’m not making yet another colossal mistake when I say, “What do you say we ditch this place? There’s something else I want you to see.”

  “Someplace better than this?” He yanks the oar out of the water and waves it around.

  I nod, shutting my eyes briefly and quickly returning us to the vast fragrant field, where Jude’s returned to his normal outfit of faded jeans, Om symbol tee, and the flip-flops he started in, and I ditch my elaborate, corseted gown in favor of cutoffs, a tank top, and sandals, before leading him along the stream, over to the road, down the alleyway, and onto the boulevard where the Great Halls of Learning can be found.

  Turning to him as I say, “I have a confession to make.”

  He looks at me, spliced brow raised expectantly.

  “I—I didn’t bring you here just to cure you.” He stops, looking at me in a way that makes me stop too. Taking a deep breath, knowing this is my chance, the only place I’ll ever be able to say it, I square my shoulders, lift my chin, and say, “I actually need you to do something—something for me.”

  “O-kay . . .” He squints, his eyes kind, patient, waiting for me to get to it.

  “You see—the thing is—” I twist my crystal horseshoe bracelet around and around, hardly able to look him in the eye. “Well, lately, that magick I told you about—the spell—it’s gotten worse. It’s like, everything’s fine when I’m here, but back on the earth plane—I’m pretty much a wreck. It’s like a disease. I’m consumed with thoughts of Roman, and in case you haven’t noticed it’s like my outer state is starting to reflect my inner state. I’m losing weight, losing sleep, and there’s no getting around it—back home, on the earth plane, I look like crap. But every time I try to confide in Damen or ask him for help—heck, even when I try to ask you to ask him to help—it’s like the spell takes over—the dark magick—or the beast as I’ve come to think of it—won’t let me speak. It’s like it doesn’t want anything to come between Roman and me. But here in Summerland, it can’t stop me. It’s the only place where I’m my usual self again. And so, I thought that maybe by bringing you here, you could—”

  “So why don’t you just bring Damen to Summerland then? I don’t get it.” He cocks his head to the side and takes me in.

  “Because he won’t come.” I sigh, gazing down at my feet. “He knows something’s wrong, knows something’s up with me, but he thinks it’s because I’m addicted to this place or—or something like that. Anyway, he refuses to join me, and since I’m unable to tell him the truth, he’s standing firm, refuses to budge. And because of it, well, let’s just say it’s been way too long since I’ve even seen him.” I swallow hard, wincing at the way my voice just cracked.

  “And so—where do I come in?” He looks at me. “You want me to buzz back to the earth plane so I can tell Damen?”

  “No,” I say, shoulders lifting when I add, “Or at least not yet. First I’m going to take you somewhere, and if you’re able to get inside—” I look at him, hoping against hope that he can. “Then I want you to seek help on my behalf—find a solution to my problem. And I know it sounds crazy, but trust me when I say that all you have to do is desire the answer and it’ll come. I’d do it myself if I could—but I’m—I’m—no longer welcome in there.”

  He looks me over and nods, back to walking alongside me when he says, “So where is this place?” His expression transforming to one of awe as he follows the tip of my pointing finger all the way to that beautiful, grand old building, whispering, “So it is true!” His eyes lighting up as he takes the steep marble stairs in a handful of leaps.

  Leaving me to stand there, jaw dropped to my knees, as both doors spring open and sweep him inside before I can blink.

  The same two doors that slam closed on me.

  I slump onto the steps, locked out again. Wondering just how long I’ll be forced to wait it out ’til he’s done doing—well, whatever it is he plans to do in there. Knowing it could be a very long time since, for a newbie especially, the Great Halls of Learning are just too good to resist.

  I jump to my feet and brush myself off, refusing to sit outside like the loser I am, deciding to look around a little, maybe do some exploring. I’m always so single-minded when I come here, I rarely, if ever, take the time to just wander.

  Knowing I can travel by whatever method I choose—subway, Vespa, heck, even astride a great painted elephant since there’s really no limit to what you can do here—I choose to go on horseback instead. Re-creating a mount similar to one I first rode with Damen, back when he lured me here for the very first time, only this one’s a mare.

  I hop onto her back and settle into the saddle, running my hand over her silky, soft mane and down the side of her neck. Cooing softly into her ear as I give a gentle nudge in her gut and we set out on a leisurely walk with no real destination in mind. Remembering what the twins once told me about Summerland, that it’s built of desires. That in order to see something, do something, have something, experience something, or visit something, you must first desire it.

  I stop my mount briefly and shut my eyes, attempting to desire the answers I seek.

  But, as it turns out, Summerland is smarter than that, so nothing really happens other than the fact that my horse grows bored and lets me know it by snorting, grunting, whisking her tail, and stomping the ground with her hooves. So I take a deep breath and try something else, thinking out of everything here, out of all the movie theaters, the galleries, the beauty salons, the great and wonderful buildings, what’s the one thing I haven’t yet seen that I should?

  What’s the one place I really need to know about?

  And before I know it, my horse takes off at full gallop—mane flying, tail swishing, ears tucked back tightly, as I grip the reins and hang on for dear life. The scenery blurring and whirring right past me as I duck down low and squint against the gale. Covering a great distance of unfamiliar land in a matter of seconds, until my horse stops so suddenly, so unexpectedly, I vault right over her head and into the mud.

  She whinnies loudly, rearing up on her hind legs before slamming back down on all fours, grunting and snorting and backing up slowly, as I struggle to my feet, slowly, carefully, not wanting to do anything sudden that might spook her even more.

  More used to dealing with dogs than horses, I lower my voice, keeping it firm and steady as I point my finger and sa
y, “Stay.”

  She looks at me, ears pinned back, clearly not liking my plan.

  I swallow hard, swallow my fear, when I add, “Don’t go. Stay right where you are.”

  Knowing she may not be much help if I was threatened in any real way, but still reluctant to be alone in this dank, creepy place.

  I gaze down at my shorts, now covered with mud, and even after I close my eyes and try to replace them, try to clean myself up, I remain exactly the same. Instant manifestation doesn’t work in these parts.

  I take a deep breath and fight to steady myself, as eager to leave as my horse, but knowing I was sent here for a reason, that there’s something I’m meant to see, I resolve to stay just a little bit longer. Squinting at the scenery before me, and noticing that instead of the usual, soft, golden radiance, the sky in these parts is all murky and gray. Instead of the shimmering mist that I’m used to, there’s a steady downpour that leaves the ground so muddy and wet it seems it never lets up, but if the barren plants and trees are any indication, appearing so cracked and dry it’s as though they haven’t been watered for years, it’s not exactly a nourishing rain.

  I take a step forward, determined to decipher the message, learn why I’m here, but when my foot sinks so deep the mud swallows me up to my knees, I decide to let my horse take the lead. But no matter what I coo in her ear, what commands I give, she refuses to explore any further. She has one destination in mind and that’s back to where we came from, so I finally give up and give her full rein.

  Glancing over my shoulder as we leave and remembering what the twins once said:

  “Summerland contains the possibility of all things.”

  And wondering if I somehow stumbled upon its other side.

  seventeen

  “What happened to you?”

  I squint, having no idea what he’s referring to until I follow his pointing finger all the way down to my mud-splattered legs and the flip-flops that used to be a cute, metallic gold but are now so crusted with dirt they’re more like a blech-tinged brown instead.

  I frown, instantly swapping them out for a nice, new, clean version of the exact same thing, glad to know I’m back to the magical section of Summerland, which is far more preferable to the no-man’s-land I visited earlier. Taking a moment to shrug on the soft lilac cardigan I also just manifested, wrapping it tightly around me as I say, “I got tired of waiting. I didn’t know how long you’d be, so I went on a little—uh—field trip.” I lift my shoulders like it was no big deal, like it was just your everyday, garden variety, late afternoon stroll—when the truth is with that weird, relentless rain, those barren trees, my horse’s determination to get the heck out of there, it was anything but. But Jude already has enough to process without my adding a confusing new territory to the mix and I’m eager to find out what he’s seen.

  “But even more important than what happened to me is what happened to you?” I look him over from the top of his golden brown dreadlocks to the rubber soles of his flip-flops, noticing how on the outside he’s pretty much the same as I left him, but inside, something has definitely changed. There’s a shift in his energy, his demeanor. On the one hand, he seems lighter, brighter, brimming with confidence, yet he also seems distinctly edgy for someone who just visited one of the greatest wonders in all of the universe.

  “Well—it was—interesting.” He nods, his gaze meeting mine, but only for a moment before he quickly turns away.

  And I can’t believe he thinks he can get away with that. I mean, I think I deserve a little more after having brought him all the way here.

  “Um, care to elaborate?” I arc my brow. “Exactly how was it interesting? What did you see, hear, learn? What did you do from the moment you entered to the moment you left? Did you get the answers I need?” Knowing I’m seconds away from peering into his mind to see for myself if he doesn’t spill soon.

  He takes a deep breath and turns, moving several paces away until he finally meets my gaze and says, “I’m not sure I really want to get into it just yet—it’s a lot to process—I still need to make sense of it. It’s all a bit—complicated—”

  I squint, determined to see for myself. There are very few secrets in Summerland, especially for a newbie like him who doesn’t have the first clue as to how it all works, but the second I run up against that solid brick wall, I know just where he’s been.

  The akashic records.

  Remembering how Romy once said: Not all thoughts can be read, only the ones you’re permitted to see. Whatever you see in the akashic records is yours and yours to keep.

  I narrow my gaze, needing to know now more than ever, moving toward him, just about to push a bit further when I feel it—that swarm of warmth, of tingle and heat his mere presence brings. Turning to find Damen, making his way down those steep marble steps, until he stops—everything stops—and our eyes meet.

  And I’m just about to call out to him—urge him to join me, knowing now’s my chance to explain everything, when I see what he sees—me and Jude together, enjoying a nice trip to Summerland—Damen’s and my special place. And before I can do anything, say anything—he’s gone. Just blinked out of existence as though he was never really there.

  Except he was.

  His energy lingers. I can still feel him on my skin.

  And one glance at Jude is all it takes to confirm it. Seeing the way his eyes go wide, the way his lips part—the way he reaches toward me, wanting to comfort, but I pull away quickly. Sickened by what Damen must think—how we must’ve appeared to his eyes.

  “You should go,” I say, my back turned toward him, my voice crisp and tight. “Just close your eyes, make the portal, and go. Please.”

  “Ever—” he says, reaching for me again, but I’m already gone, moving on to some other place.

  eighteen

  I walk. Walk until I’ve no idea how far I’ve gone. Walk until I’m sure Damen can no longer see me. Determined to outwalk my problems but not getting very far, finally understanding that old adage on the coffee mug my eighth-grade English teacher used to have: wherever you go—there you are.

  You can’t outwalk your problems. Can never run fast enough to evade them completely. This is my journey, and there’s just no escaping it.

  And even though Summerland provides such sweet, glorious release—its effect is only temporary at best. No matter how long I manage to stay here, I’m pretty sure things will do a one-eighty the second I return to the earth plane.

  I wander farther, trying to decide between stopping by the theater to catch an old movie, or maybe even heading over to Paris to take a nice relaxing stroll along the River Seine, or even a quick hike through the ruins of Machu Picchu, or a run through the Roman Coliseum, when I come across a smattering of cottages that brings me to a halt.

  The outside is plain, modest, consisting of wood shingles, small windows, and pointy, triangular roofs—but even though there’s seemingly nothing special about any of them, there’s one in particular that beckons to me, glowing in a way that lures me down the narrow dirt path until I’m standing just outside the door. Having no idea why I’m here but still debating whether or not I should try to go in.

  “Ain’t seen ’em round these parts fer weeks.”

  I turn to find an old man poised at the edge of the path, dressed conservatively in white shirt, black sweater, and black pants, a few wispy gray hairs brushed sideways over his shiny bald scalp, leaning on an elaborately carved cane that seems to testify more to his love of its craftsmanship than any real physical need.

  I squint, unsure what to say. I don’t even know why I’m here, much less whom he’s referring to.

  “Them two girls—the dark-haired ones. Twins they were. Could barely tell ’em apart meself—though the missus had ’em down. The nice one—she liked chocolate, and lots of it.” He chuckles, smiling at the memory. “And the other one—the quiet, stubborn one—she preferred popcorn, couldn’t get enough of it. But only the stove-popped kind, none of that
instant manifested stuff.” He nods, looking at me, really taking me in, not the least bit shocked by my modern dress in these parts. “The missus she indulged ’em, she did. Felt sorry for ’em, worried about ’em a good bit too, I’d say. Then, after all that, after all these years, they just up and leave with nary a word.” He shakes his head again, but this time he doesn’t laugh or smile, just gives me a bewildered look, as though hoping I can help him make sense of it.

  I swallow hard, my gaze darting between the front door and him, pulse quickening, heart racing, knowing without asking, knowing deep down inside that this is where they stayed—this is where Romy and Rayne lived for the last three hundred and some-odd years.

  But still needing a verbal confirmation, just to make sure, I say, “Did—did you say the twins?” My mind reeling, as I take in the plain familiar cottage, an exact replica of the one I saw in the vision the day I first found them squatting at Ava’s when I grabbed Romy’s arm and watched their entire life story unfold—all of it racing toward me in a jumble of pictures—this house—their aunt—the Salem Witch Trials she was determined to shield them from—and it all led to this.

  “Romy and Rayne.” He nods, looking me over with cheeks so red, a nose so bulbous, and eyes so kind he seems almost manifested, fake, a lifelike replica of the quintessential jolly old Englishman on his way home from the pub. But since he doesn’t waver or fade in and out, since he remains right there before me with that same friendly grin on his face, I know he’s for real. Maybe living, maybe dead—can’t be too sure about that, but definitely, positively, the real deal. “Them’s the ones you’s looking for, yes?”