Shadowland: The Immortals

by Alyson Noel

  twenty-one

  I stare at the monitor, making sure Jude has left before taking the seat behind the desk and gazing at the pile of crystals. Knowing the book alone wasn’t enough—they need to be handled to be understood. But just as I reach for a large red rock marked by streaks of yellow, my knee knocks against the side of the desk, and my entire body grows itchy and warm—a sure sign that something needs my attention.

  I push the chair back and lean forward, peering under the desk, noticing how the sensation grows stronger the lower I go. Following the feeling until I’ve slid off my seat and dropped to the floor, fumbling around for the source, the tips of my fingers growing unbearably hot the second I touch the bottom left drawer.

  I lean back on my heels, squinting at the old brass lock—the kind of deterrent meant to keep honest people honest, and dissuade those who don’t know how to manipulate energy like me—closing my eyes as I ease the drawer open, only to find a pile of hanging files that are no longer hanging, an ancient calculator, and a pile of old and yellowed receipts. Just about to close it again when I sense the false bottom beneath.

  I scoop up the papers and toss them aside before lifting the hatch and exposing an old, worn, leather-bound tome, its pages curled and fraying like a lost ancient scroll, the words Book of Shadows inscribed on its front. I place it onto the desk before me, then sit there and stare. Wondering why someone would go to so much trouble to keep this book hidden—and from whom?

  Is Lina hiding it from Jude?

  Or is it the other way around?

  And since there’s only one way to find out, I close my eyes and press my palm to its front, planning to read it in my usual way until I’m slammed by a surge of energy so intense, so frenetic, so chaotic—it practically snap crackles my bones.

  I’m hurled backward, my chair hitting the wall with such force it leaves a huge dent. The flickering remnants of random images still quivering before me, and knowing full well why it was hidden—it’s a book of witchcraft and spells. Divinations and incantations. Containing powers so potent it would be completely catastrophic in the wrong hands.

  I steady my breath and stare at the cover, calming myself before I attempt to thumb through it. Fingers twitching, touching only the edges, as I peer at a cursive so small it’s nearly impossible to decipher. The bulk of the pages inscribed with all manner of symbols, reminding me of the alchemical journals Damen’s father used to keep—carefully written in code in order to protect the secrets within.

  I flip to the middle, taking in a fine, detailed sketch of a group of people dancing under a full moon, followed by those of similar people engaged in complex rituals. Fingers hovering above the scratchy old paper and suddenly knowing deep in my bones that this is no mistake. I was meant to find this book.

  Just like Roman hypnotized my classmates and put them all under his spell, all I have to do is weave the right incantation to convince him to divulge the information I need!

  I turn the page, eager to find the right one, just as the bell on the shop door rings and I peer at the monitor to confirm it. Unwilling to budge ’til I’m sure they’re not going to turn right around and leave, that they’re truly committed to staying. Watching as the small, slim, black-and-white figure makes her way through the room—nervously glancing over her shoulder as though expecting to find someone there. And just as I’m hoping she’ll leave, she goes straight for the counter, places her hands on the glass, and waits patiently.

  Great. I get up from the desk. Just what I need—a customer. Calling, “Can I help you?” before I’ve even had a chance to turn the corner and see that it’s Honor.

  The second she sees me she gasps, jaw dropping, eyes widening, appearing almost—frightened? The two of us gape at each other, wondering how to move past this.

  “Um, do you need something?” I say, voice sounding more confident than I feel, as though I really am in charge around here. Taking in her long dark hair, the recent addition of copper streaks glinting under the lights, realizing I’ve never seen her alone until now. Never once been confronted by her, just the two of us, without Stacia or Craig.

  My mind wanders to the book in the back, the one I left on the desk, the one I need to return to immediately, hoping whatever it is that she wants can be handled quickly and easily.

  “Maybe I’m in the wrong place.” She pulls her shoulders in, twisting a silver ring around and around as her cheeks spot bright pink. “I think I—” She swallows hard and glances back at the door, motioning awkwardly as she says, “I think I made a mistake, so I’m—I’m just gonna go—”

  I watch as she turns, her aura glowing a tremulous gray as she heads for the door. And even though I don’t want to do it, even though I have a potentially life-changing, problem-solving book to return to, I say, “It’s not a mistake.” She stops, shoulders hunched, looking small and diminutive without the aid of her bully friend. “Seriously,” I add. “You meant to come here. And who knows? Maybe I can help.”

  She takes a deep breath, pausing for so long I’m about to speak again when she turns. “There’s this guy.” She picks at the hem of her shorts and gazes at me.

  “Jude.” Sensing the answer without reading her thoughts or touching her skin, just knowing the moment my eyes meet hers.

  “Yeah, um, I guess. Anyway, I um—” She shakes her head and starts again. “Well, I was just wondering if he was here. He gave me this.” She pulls a crumpled piece of paper from her pocket and lays it flat against the glass, smoothing the creases as she peers up at me.

  “He’s not here,” I mumble, eyes grazing over the flyer advertising his Psychic Development Class level 1, thinking how he wasted no time. “You want to leave a message? Or sign up?” I study her carefully, never having seen her so shy and uncomfortable before—with the ring twisting, eye darting, knee twitching—and knowing it’s because of me.

  She shrugs, gazing down at the counter as though fascinated by the jewelry inside. “No, um, don’t say anything. I’ll just come back some other time.” She takes a deep breath and pulls her shoulders back, trying to summon some of the usual revulsion reserved just for me, but failing miserably.

  And even though part of me wants to soothe her, calm her, convince her there’s really no reason to act like this—I don’t. I just watch as she leaves, making sure the door closes behind her before heading back to the book.

  twenty-two

  “So how was your first day at work?”

  I drop onto the couch, kick off my shoes, and prop my feet up on the carved wood coff ee table, closing my eyes, and sighing dramatically as I say, “Actually, it was a lot easier than you’d think.”

  Damen laughs and sinks down beside me. Smoothing my hair off my face when he says, “Then what’s with all the fatigue and theatrics?”

  I shrug, scrunching down even lower, sinking as deep as I can into the plush, overstuffed cushions, eyes still closed as I say, “I don’t know. Maybe it’s got something to do with the book I found. It left me feeling a little—fragmented. But then, it might have something to do with my surprise visit with—”

  “You read a book?” His lips trail down the length of my neck, filling my body with tingle and heat. “As in, the traditional way?”

  I move closer, throwing my leg over his and snuggling in, eager for the almost feel of his skin. “Believe me, I tried to take the easy way out and just sense it instead, but it was like—I don’t know—it was the weirdest experience.” I look at him, willing his eyes to meet mine, but they remain closed as he buries his face in my hair. “It was like—like the knowledge inside was too powerful to be read in that way, you know? And it gave me this terrible jolt of electricity—like a shock that rattled my bones. Which only made me even more curious, which is why I tried to read it the normal way. Only I didn’t get very far.”

  “Out of practice?” He smiles, lips now at my ear

  “More like I couldn’t understand it.” I shrug. “It’s mostly in code. And the parts that are
English, well, it was like—olde English. You know, like the kind you used to speak.” I pull away and peer at him, smiling when I see the look of mock outrage displayed on his face. “Not to mention the print was really small and it was filled with all these weird sketches and symbols making up spells and invocations, that sort of thing. What—why are you looking at me like that?” I pause, sensing a major energy shift as his body grows tense

  “What’s the name of this book?” he asks, gaze focused on mine.

  I squint, screwing my lips to the side, trying to remember what the fancy gold lettering said. “The Book of—Something—” I shake my head, feeling more tired and fragmented than I prefer to let on, especially after seeing the concern on his face.

  “Shadows.” He nods, wearing a frown. “The Book of Shadows. Is that it?”

  “So you know it?” I shift, arranging my body until I’m fully facing him, his gaze serious, fixed, as though weighing something he may or may not tell me.

  “I’m familiar.” He studies my face. “But only with its reputation. I’ve never had a chance to read it myself. But, Ever, if it’s the same tome I’m thinking of—” He shakes his head, disquiet clouding his face. “Well, it contains some extremely powerful magick—magick that needs to be approached with the utmost caution and care. Magick that definitely should not be toyed with, understand?”

  “So I guess you’re saying it works.” I smile, hoping to lighten the mood, but knowing I’ve failed when he doesn’t return it.

  “It’s nothing like the magick we use. It may seem like it at first, and I suppose that when stripped down to its very essence, it does amount to the same sort of thing. But when we evoke the energy of the universe to manifest form, we call upon only the purest and brightest of light with no darkness at all. And even though most magick practitioners or witches are good, sometimes when people get involved in witchcraft they get in over their heads, and wind up taking a much darker path, calling on a more malevolent force to get the job done.”

  I gape, never having heard him even acknowledge a dark force before.

  “Everything we do is always based either for the greater good, or our own good. We never do anything to cause any harm.”

  “I wouldn’t say never,” I mumble, remembering all the times I’ve beaten Stacia at her own game, or at least tried to.

  “Petty schoolyard squabble is hardly what I’m getting at.” He dismisses my thoughts. “What I meant was, we manipulate matter not people. But resorting to spell casting to get what you want—” He shakes his head. “Well, that’s a whole other game. Ask Romy and Rayne.”

  I look at him.

  “They are witches, you know. Good witches, of course, ones who were taught very well—though unfortunately for them, their schooling was cut a bit short. But take Roman, for instance, he’s the perfect example of what can go wrong when one’s ego, greed, and insatiable need for power and revenge steer them toward the dark side. His recent use of hypnosis is a prime example of that.” He looks at me, shaking his head. “Please tell me you didn’t find this book on the shelf—out where just anyone can get it.”

  I cross my legs and shake my head, fingers tracing the seam on his sleeve. “It was nothing like that,” I say. “This copy was—old. And I mean, really, really old. You know, all fragile and ancient—like it should be in a museum or something. Trust me, whoever it belongs to didn’t want anyone to know about it; they went to great lengths to hide it. But you know that can’t really stop me.” I smile, hoping he’ll smile too, but his gaze remains unchanged, worried eyes staring right into mine.

  “Who do you think is using it? Lina or Jude?” he asks, using their names so casually you’d think they were friends.

  “Does it matter?” I shrug.

  He studies me a moment longer, then averts his gaze. Mind wandering to some long-ago place, somewhere I’ve never been. “So, is that it, then? A brief encounter with the Book of Shadows, and you’re all tuckered out?” he says, returning to me.

  “Tuckered?” I lift a brow and shake my head. His odd choice of words never fails to amuse me.

  “Too dated?” His lips curve into a grin.

  “A little.” I nod, laughing along with him.

  “You shouldn’t make fun of the elderly. It’s quite rude, don’t you think?” He playfully chucks me under the chin.

  “Quite.” I nod, quieted by the feel of his fingers straying over my cheek, down my neck, all the way to my chest.

  We rest our heads against the cushions and gaze at each other, his hands moving nimbly, deftly, making their way over my clothes, both of us wishing it could lead to something more, but determined to be contented with this.

  “So what else happened at work?” he whispers, pressing his lips to my skin, the ever-present veil hovering between us.

  “Did some organizing, cataloging, filing—oh, and then Honor came in.”

  He pulls away, features rearranged into his I told you so gaze. “Relax. It’s not like she was looking for a reading or anything. Or at least she didn’t seem to be.”

  “What’d she want?”

  “Jude, I guess.” I lift my shoulders, inching my fingers under the hem of his shirt, feeling his smooth expanse of skin and wishing I could crawl under there too. “It was weird seeing her alone though. You know, without Stacia or Craig. It’s like she was a totally different person—all shy and awkward, completely transformed.”

  “You think she likes Jude?” His fingers trace the line of my collarbone, his touch so warm, so perfect, barely dimmed by the veil.

  I shrug, burying my face in the shallow V of his shirt, inhaling his warm musky scent. Determined to ignore the way my stomach just dipped when he spoke. Having no idea what it means or why I should care if Honor likes Jude, but preferring to push it away nonetheless. “Why? Do you think I should warn him? You know, tell him what she’s really like?” My lips pushing into the hollow at the base of his neck, right next to the cord that holds his amulet.

  He shifts, rearranging his limbs, pulling away as he says, “If he’s as gifted as you say, then he should be able to read her energy and see for himself.” He gazes at me, voice careful, measured, overly controlled in a way I’m not used to. “Besides, do we even know what she’s really like? From what you’ve described, we only know her under the influence of Stacia. She may be quite nice on her own.”

  I squint, trying to imagine a nicer version of Honor, but unable to get there. “But still,” I say. “Jude has a habit of falling for all the wrong girls and—” I stop, meeting his gaze and sensing that things have taken a definite turn for the worse, though I’ve no idea why. “You know what? Never mind all that. It’s boring and stupid and not worth our time. Let’s talk about something else, okay?” I lean toward him, aiming my lips toward the edge of his jaw, anticipating the prickle and scratch of the stubble that grows there. “Let’s talk about something that has nothing to do with my job, or the twins, or your ugly new car—” Hoping he was more amused than off ended by that. “Something that doesn’t make me feel quite so—old and boring.”

  “Are you saying you’re bored?” He looks at me, eyes wide, aghast.

  I lift my shoulders and scrunch my face, wishing I could pretend otherwise, but also not wanting to lie. “A little.” I nod. “I mean, I’m sorry to say it, but this whole cuddling on the couch while the kids sleep upstairs—” I shake my head. “It’s one thing when you’re babysitting, but it’s a little creepy when the kids are essentially yours. I mean, I know we’re still adjusting and all—but—well—I guess what I’m trying to say is, it’s starting to feel like a rut.” I peer at him, lips pressed tightly together, unsure how he’ll take that.

  “You know how to get out of a rut, don’t you?” He jumps to his feet so swiftly he’s a shiny, dark blur.

  I shake my head, recognizing that look in his eye from when we first met. Back when things were fun, exciting, unpredictable in every way.

  “The only escape is to break free.�
�� He laughs, grasping my hand and leading me away.

  twenty-three

  I follow him through the kitchen and out to the garage, wondering where he could possibly be taking me since a nice trip to Summerland can be had from the couch.

  “What about the twins?” I whisper. “What if they wake and find we’re not here?”

  Damen shrugs, leading me to his car and glancing over his shoulder as he says, “No worries, they’re sleeping soundly. Besides, I have a feeling they’ll stay that way for a while.”

  “And did you have anything to do with that?” I ask, remembering the time he put the entire student body to sleep—including the administrators and teachers—and I’m still not sure how he did it.

  He laughs and opens my door, motioning for me to get in. But I shake my head and stand my ground. No way am I riding in the mom mobile—the very embodiment of the rut that we’re in.

  He looks at me for a moment, then shakes his head and closes his eyes, brows merging together as he manifests a shiny red Lamborghini instead. Just like the one I drove the other day.

  But I shake my head again, having no need for a new brand of fun when the old one will do. So I close my eyes and wish it away, replacing it with an exact replica of the shiny black BMW he used to drive.

  “Point taken.” He nods, waving me in with a mischievous grin.

  And the next thing I know we’re racing down the drive and onto the street, slowing just enough for the gate to open, before taking Coast Highway in a blur of speed.

  I gaze at him, trying to peer into his mind and see just where we’re going, but he just laughs, purposely erecting his psychic shield, determined to surprise me.

  He hops on the freeway and cranks up the stereo, laughing in surprise when the Beatles come on. “The White Album?” He glances at me as he navigates the road at near-record speeds.