Dark Flame

by Alyson Noel

  A father who turns to drink to numb the pain—and then to violence when that fails to work.

  A father who beats his poor young son from the time he’s old enough to crawl, until the day when, in a drunken stupor, he starts a fight with someone much bigger and stronger, a fight he cannot win. His battered, bloodied body, left in an alleyway, beaten beyond repair, but still smiling his last breath, when the sweet release he’s sought all along finally arrives. Leaving behind a hungry, abandoned child that soon becomes a ward of the Church.

  A child with smooth olive skin, large blue eyes, and a golden crop of curls that could only belong to Roman.

  Could only belong to my nemesis, my enemy, my eternal antagonist whom I can no longer hate. Whom I only feel pity for after watching how, younger than the others and small for his age, he struggles to fit in, to please, to be noticed and loved, only to go from being an overlooked, ignored, and abused son, to everyone’s servant, everyone’s favorite whipping boy.

  Even when Damen makes the elixir and urges them all to drink to spare them from the ravages of the Black Plague, Roman is the last to be served. Having completely overlooked him until Drina brought him forward, insisting the last drops be saved for him.

  And even though I make myself stay until the end, watching hundreds of years of his growing resentment toward Damen, hundreds of years of his love for Drina being denied again and again, hundreds of years of him becoming so strong, and so accomplished, he can get anything or anyone he wants except the one thing he wants the most—the one thing I robbed him of forever—even though I watch all of that—I didn’t need to.

  The beast was born six hundred years ago, when his father beat him, when Damen overlooked him, when Drina was kind to him. Sure he could’ve lived differently, made better choices, if only someone would’ve shown him the way. But you can’t give away what you don’t have.

  And when the hologram ends, when the images disappear, and the lights go dim, I know what to do.

  Without being told, I know exactly how to proceed.

  So I rise from my seat, give a silent nod of thanks, and make my way back to the earth plane.

  thirty-one

  When I pull into the drive and park, I’ll admit to a fleeting but still major feeling of trepidation. My mind spinning with questions like: Should I really be doing this? Will I even get a chance to do this? Or will she toss me right out like last year’s Emo look?

  Realizing I won’t know until I try, I take a moment to calm myself, to get centered, to summon my strength from within, and fill myself with that bright, radiant, healing light just like Ava taught me to do. Tapping my amulet just under my dress once for good measure, I hop out of the car and head for the door. Having no idea if she even still lives here now that she’s super-charged, infinite, with the whole world at her feet, but figuring it’s the best place to start.

  “Hi.” I smile, peering over the housekeeper’s shoulder, relieved to see that from here anyway, everything seems to look pretty much the same, which means it’s in its usual state of chaos and disorder. “Is Haven here?” I add, my voice hopeful, as though willing her to say yes.

  She nods, opening the door even wider and motioning up toward Haven’s room as I bolt up the stairs, following the wave of her fingers and allowing no time for turning back or second-guessing as I stand just outside the door and knock twice.

  “Who is it?” she calls, clearly annoyed, as though the last thing she wants is a visitor. And when I tell her it’s me, well, I can only imagine how that goes over.

  “Well, well,” she purrs, cracking the door just enough to confirm it, her eyes really raking me over without letting me in. “The last time I saw you—you were trying to—”

  “Attack you.” I nod, figuring I’d surprise her by admitting it, openly, freely, with no holding back. “About that—” I start, but she’s not about to let me finish.

  “Well, actually, I was going to say, seduce my boyfriend. But yeah, come to think of it, the only one you got physical with was me.” She smiles, but it’s not the nice, happy kind, nope, far from it. “So tell me, Ever, what brings you here? Eager to finish the job?”

  I look at her, keeping my gaze as open and honest and direct as I can when I say, “No, not at all. I actually came here hoping to put an end to all this—to explain and call a truce.” Wincing at my use of the word, remembering the last time I used it with Roman and how it didn’t go over so well.

  “A truce?” She lifts a brow and cocks her head. “You? Ever Bloom? The girl who pretended to be my best friend, stole my crush right out from under me—um, hel-lo, Damen?” she says, shaking her head in response to my look of confusion. “If you’ll remember, I called dibs on him long before you, but still, you just dove right on in and scooped him right out from under me, which, fine, whatever, it all worked out in the end, I guess, but still. And then, even after all that, once you seemingly have everything a person could ever want, apparently that just isn’t enough for you and so you decide to go after Roman too, because apparently one smokin’ hot immortal just isn’t enough. Oh, and you’re so single-minded in your quest, you decide you’ll try to kill me if that’s what it takes to get to him. But now, you’ve suddenly suffered a dramatic change of heart, leading you to just show up at my bedroom door and ask for a truce? Is that right? Is that what’s really happening here?”

  I nod. “Basically, but there’s a lot more to it than that, something you need to know. Because the truth is, I tried to put a spell on Roman—a spell that would make him do my bidding and give me what I want. Only it totally backfired and ended up binding me to him in a way that—well, in a way I still don’t fully understand.” I scrunch my nose and shake my head at the memory of it. “But that’s the only reason I did what I did. I swear. The magick took control and I wasn’t in my right mind. It wasn’t really me that was doing those things—or at least not entirely.” I shake my head. “I know it sounds crazy, and it’s not all that easy to explain, but it’s like I was being compelled by a force outside myself.” I look at her, willing her to believe. “I wasn’t in charge.”

  She looks at me, head tilted, a single brow lifted. Smirking as she says, “A spell? You seriously expect me to believe that?”

  I nod, carefully holding her gaze. Willing to confess the whole sordid tale, whatever it takes to get her to trust me again. But not here. Not in the hall. “Listen, do you think maybe I could—?” I gesture toward the inside of her room.

  She frowns, eyes narrowed to slits as she takes her time to consider. Opening the door just wide enough for me to squeeze through when she says, “Just so you know, you make one move I don’t like and so help me God I will take you down so fast you won’t even know what hit—”

  “Relax,” I say, plopping onto her bed just like the old days, only this is nothing like the old days, not even close. “I’m feeling very nonviolent today, I assure you. In fact, I’m feeling very nonviolent pretty much every day from now on, and I have no intention of going after you in any way. All I want is peace and the return of your friendship, but failing that, I’ll settle for a truce.”

  She leans against her dresser, arms folded tightly across the black leather corset she wears cinched over her antique lace dress. “Sorry, Ever, but after all we’ve been through, it’s just not that easy. I have no reason to trust you, and I’m gonna need a little more assurance than that.”

  I take a deep breath and run my hand over her old floral bedspread, surprised she hasn’t changed it by now. “Trust me,” I say, looking at her. “I get it, I really do. But, Haven”—I pause, shaking my head and starting again—“the truth is, I can’t stand what’s happened to us. I miss you. I miss our friendship. And I hate knowing it’s partly my fault.”

  “Partly?” She balks, rolling her eyes and shaking her head. “Um, excuse me for saying so, but don’t you think that statement would be a little more accurate if you admitted to all of it being your fault?”

  I look at her, look h
er straight in the eye when I say, “Fine, I’ll concede to most of it, but certainly not all of it. But, Haven, the point is—while I don’t like Roman—and believe me I have my reasons—I get that he’s your boyfriend, and I get that no matter what I say about him I can’t change your mind, so I’m not gonna try. And I know you find that hard to believe, especially after what you saw the other night—but the thing is—well—like I said before, that wasn’t really me.”

  “Oh right—it was that pesky evil spell.” She shakes her head and rolls her eyes, but I don’t let that stop me.

  “Listen, I know you don’t believe me, and I know how crazy I probably sound right now, but I think that considering the circumstances, you of all people should know that the craziest-sounding things are often true.”

  She looks at me, mouth twisted to the side, a sure sign she’s not just discarding but actually considering my words.

  “We’re on the same side, you and I—and I hope that in time, you’ll see that too. Trust me—I’m not trying to stand in the way of your happiness. And I would never try to steal someone you wanted for yourself—despite how it may have looked. I just—well, I’m just hoping there’s still some way for us to be friends again, some way to mend our friendship, in spite of all that’s happened. I mean, I know it won’t be the same. I hardly expect it to be after all we’ve been through, and I know you’re really busy with your job, and hanging out with—um—those other immortals . . .” I say, temporarily forgetting their names.

  “Rafe, Misa, and Marco,” she mumbles, clearly annoyed.

  “Yeah, them. But still, school’s starting up in a few weeks, and Miles will be back soon, and I thought maybe, I mean, not every day if you don’t want, but maybe every now and then, we could all sit together at lunch. You know, like we used to.”

  “So, it’s a lunchtime truce?” she says, her eyes a kaleidoscope of tortoiseshell swirls fixed firmly on mine.

  “No.” I shake my head. “It’s an all the time truce. I’m just hoping it’ll extend to the occasional lunch too.”

  She frowns, picking at her cuticles, which, I know for a fact, are not at all ragged because immortals do not get hangnails. I also know it’s an excuse to avoid me, avoid my gaze, make me wonder and wait while she takes her time to consider my words.

  “It can never be like it was,” she finally says, lifting her gaze to meet mine. “And not just because of everything that happened with Roman—which was seriously messed up, by the way. But the real reason we can’t go back is because I’m different now—and the thing is, I like being different. I don’t want to go back to the way I was. I don’t want to be that sad, pathetic loser ever again.”

  “You were never pathetic or a loser—just a bit sad at times,” I say, but she quickly waves it away.

  “Besides, so much has changed—maybe too much—I’m not sure I can get past all of that.”

  I nod. I realize this too but still hope that she can.

  “And yeah, Misa, Rafe, and Marco are cool and all, don’t get me wrong, but other than our immortality, and our work at the store, we really don’t have all that much in common, you know? I mean, we have totally different backgrounds, totally different references, they’ve never even heard of most of my favorite bands, which really kind of bugs me.”

  I shrug and nod, like I get it, totally and completely get it.

  “And even though I never really felt like you and I had all that much in common either, I did always feel like you sort of got me, you know? Like maybe you couldn’t exactly relate to me, but still, you accepted me, you didn’t judge me, and, well, it meant a lot—or it meant something, anyway.”

  I press my lips together and wait for the rest, knowing she’s far from done yet.

  “So yeah, I’ve missed you too.” She looks at me, shrugging when she adds, “It’ll be nice to keep at least one friend for the rest of eternity. But are you sure we can’t turn Miles too?”

  “No!” I blurt, before I realize she’s joking.

  “Jeez, do you ever unclench?” She laughs, uncrossing her arms and dropping onto her leopard beanbag chair in a heap of leather and lace, spreading her dress all around her before resting her head against her hand. “Could help with the acting stuff though—he’d definitely snag all the best roles.”

  “And that’s good for how long?” I look at her. “Trust me, even in Hollywood people would start to notice how he never aged a day over eighteen.”

  “Didn’t seem to hurt Dick Clark.”

  I squint, having no idea who that is.

  “America’s Oldest Teenager? New Year’s Rockin’ Eve?”

  I shrug, still no bells.

  “Whatever.” She laughs and shakes her head. “Anyway, I have this theory that there’s a whole lot more of us than we think, actors, supermodels—I mean, seriously? How do you explain some of them?”

  I shrug. “Luck, good genes, plastic surgery, and lots and lots of Photoshop.” I laugh. “That’s how I explain it.”

  “Well, between you and me, Roman’s not always all that forthcoming with the details. He tends to hold a lot back.”

  No kidding.

  “This one time, when I asked him just how many more of us were out there, and how many he himself turned, he just turned away, mumbled some childish nonsense about that being for him to know and the rest of the world to find out, or something like that. And no matter how much I bugged him, that’s all he’d say. Just kept repeating that over and over until I got so annoyed, I dropped it.”

  “That’s what he said?” I ask, trying to keep the alarm out of my voice but not entirely succeeding. “He said it’s for him to know and the rest of the world to find out?” I gasp, not liking the ominous sound of it. Not liking it at all.

  Haven looks at me, attempting to backtrack when she sees my expression, hears the way my voice rises, and realizes she might’ve gone just a tad too far. That her loyalties no longer extend to me and are definitely balanced in Roman’s favor. “Or maybe he said for me to find out? That’s how the saying goes, right?” She lifts her shoulder as her fingers pick at the lace on her sleeve. “Well, anyway, it’s probably better not to talk about Roman since I love him and you hate him and if we want to be friends we’re going to have to exist in a Roman-free zone, right? We’re going to have to agree to disagree.”

  A Roman-free zone—how lovely! But that’s just what I think, what I say is entirely different.

  “Do you love him?”

  She looks at me, looks at me for a long moment, before she dips her head and says, “I do. I really, really do.”

  “And is it—reciprocated?” I ask, doubting Roman’s even capable of loving anyone, especially seeing how it was never shown to him, never really offered in any real or lasting way, according to what I saw. And it’s pretty hard to give something you’ve never experienced yourself. Even what he felt for Drina wasn’t love, or at least not the real kind anyway. It was more an obsession with something just out of reach, like a shining, glittering object that you yearn for but can never quite touch. Exact same feeling he’s trying to duplicate with Damen and me. Only it won’t work. With or without the antidote he’ll never win that one. What Damen and I share goes much deeper than that.

  “Honestly?” She looks at me. “I really don’t know. But if I had to guess, then I’d say, no, he doesn’t—doesn’t love me at all. I mean, even though he keeps his feelings under wraps, usually pretending like he doesn’t even have any—sometimes—sometimes he goes off on this—well, I call it his dark jag—where he locks himself in his room and won’t talk to anybody or come out for hours—and, well, I have no idea what he’s doing in there. And even though I try to respect it, try to let him have his space, I’m still really curious. Though, I figure, if I hang on long enough, he’ll finally learn to trust me, let me in, and”—she shrugs—“change all of that.”

  I look at her, amazed by how composed she is, acting far more self-assured than she ever did before.

  She ga
zes down at the strategically shredded black leggings she wears under her dress, fingers picking at one of the holes when she says, “You know, Ever, in every relationship, there’s always someone who loves more, right? I mean, last time, with Josh, it was him. He definitely loved me far more than I did him. Did you know he even wrote a song about me after we broke up, in an attempt to get me back?” She lifts her brow and shakes her head. “It was pretty good too, and I was flattered for sure, but it was too late and I’d already moved on to Roman who I clearly love more. He just agrees to hang out with me, and we have a good time, and it’s not like there’s any other girl on the scene—well, other than you—” She looks at me, her eyes narrowed in a way that makes me cringe, but just as quickly she laughs and waves it away. “But the point is, no matter what you think, no matter how it may look from the outside, the truth is, it’s never really equal. That’s just not the way it works. There’s always the pursued and the pursuer, the cat and the mouse, that’s just how it goes. So, tell me, Ever, who loves more in your relationship—Damen or you?”

  The question catches me off guard, even though it’s pretty obvious it was coming. But when I see the way she pauses, head tilted to the side, fingers twirling a random chunk of hair, patiently waiting for me to respond, I end up mumbling a bunch of jumbled nonsense that finally results in, “Well, um, I don’t know. I never really thought about it, I guess. I mean, I never even really noticed, for that matter—”

  “Really?” She shifts onto her back and gazes up at her star-spangled ceiling that I know from experience glows in the dark. “Well, I have,” she says, gaze still focused on the constellation overhead. “And just so you know, it’s Damen, not you. Damen’s the one who loves more. He’d do anything for you. You’re just along for the ride.”

  thirty-two

  I wish I could say Haven’s words didn’t bother me. That I was able not just to refute it but to plead a case so convincing she was instantly swayed to my side. But the truth is, I didn’t do or say much of anything. I just shrugged, pretending to brush it off, as she blasted a series of songs from her iPod I’d never even heard before, by bands I didn’t even know existed, and we flipped through a pile of magazines, the two of us hanging out in the same way we used to. Just like old times. But that’s just how it seemed on the surface. Deep down, we both knew things were entirely different.