Night Star

by Alyson Noel

  She’s quiet, so quiet I start to feel bad, wondering if I’ve taken it too far, yet still driving the point when I say, “You’re vowing revenge for the loss of a guy who was planning to ditch you at the first opportunity.”

  She glares, eyes narrowed to where I can just barely see them, brows merging together as the sapphire that marks her forehead emits a dark, eerie glow. And the next thing I know, all the faucets are gushing, the soap dispensers are pumping, the toilets are flushing, the hand dryers are blasting, while reams of toilet paper go sailing through the room and bouncing off the walls.

  And even though it’s clear that she’s making it happen, there’s no way of telling whether it was intended or was the result of the out-of-control anger I’ve triggered.

  But either way, it doesn’t deter me. Now that I know that it’s working, I have no choice but to continue.

  I move along the row of sinks, calmly shutting each of the taps as I say, “It just doesn’t make any sense—this whole revenge thing. Your big romance with Roman was nothing more than—well, as he would put it, a couple of mediocre shags, mate.” I look at her, indulging a small smile at my spot-on British accent. “So why waste your time on avenging a past that never really was, when you’ve got the future of your making all stretched out right before you?”

  But I’ve barely had a chance to finish before she’s on me.

  Right on me.

  Slamming me all the way across the room and into the pink tiled wall. Bashing my head against it so hard the awful dull thud of it echoes throughout the room, as a trail of warm blood drips its way from the gash where it cracked all the way down to my dress.

  I stagger, lurch forward, only to fall back again. Reeling from side to side, struggling to regain my focus, my balance, but I’m so shaken, so woozy, so unsteady, I can’t fight the fingers that push into my shoulders and pin me in place.

  Her face hovering just inches from mine when she says, “Make no mistake, Ever, I’m not vowing revenge just for Roman—I’m vowing revenge against you.” Her eyes bore into me, shooting me a look so hateful I can’t help but turn away and close mine against it. Aware of the bite of her chilled breath on my cheek, her lips at the edge of my ear, as she takes a moment to rest against me and savor her victory.

  The fixtures settling, the toilets calming, the dryers halting, as piles of soap seep slowly across the floor and into the grout, her voice a gruff, raspy whisper just inches away. “You’ve ripped away everything that’s ever meant anything to me. You’re also the one who made me this way. So if anyone’s to blame here, it’s you. You made me what I am. And now you decide that you don’t like what you see and you’re determined to stop me?” She leans back to better observe me, allowing her fingers to creep dangerously close to the amulet that hangs from my neck. “Well, too bad.” She laughs, flicking the stones with her fingers and setting my whole body on edge.

  “You chose to feed me the elixir, you chose to turn me, you chose to make me exactly what I am, and now there’s no going back.”

  She dares me to deny it, dares me with her gaze. But I can’t meet it. I’m too busy willing the dizziness to end, too busy begging for the healing to begin. Struggling for each and every breath, the words ground out between gritted teeth. “You’re not just delusional, but you’re wrong.” I fill my lungs with air and surround myself with white light, knowing I need all the help I can get. This is not going at all as I’d planned.

  Having mistaken her small stature for a lack of strength—having misjudged the power of hate, along with the live wire that strums inside her, fueling her with a seemingly endless supply of rage.

  Careful to keep my face neutral, my tone steady, not wanting to alert her to my newly alarmed state. “I may have made you immortal—but what you do with that is entirely up to you.” The words reminding me of the scene I manifested just yesterday, except this scene is nothing like the victorious one I’d rehearsed.

  Then, just like that, I feel it. I’m back. My wound healed. My strength returned. One look in her eyes tells me she senses it too.

  And just like that, it’s over.

  She’s already pushed me away.

  Already made for the door.

  Glancing over her shoulder to say, “Hey, Ever—before you go lecturing me on forgiveness, maybe you should do a little digging around. There’s a ton of stuff you don’t know about Damen—stuff he’d never choose to confide on his own. Seriously. You should look into it.”

  I don’t respond. I should, I know, but the words just won’t come.

  My gaze is locked with hers when she adds, “Forgiveness, Ever. Think about it. So easy to preach—so difficult to practice. Maybe you should ask yourself if you’re truly capable of it? Can you really forgive the sins of Damen’s past? That’s what I wanna know—and that’s the only reason I let you live now. The only reason I’ll let you hang around just a little bit longer. If nothing else, it’ll be interesting to watch. But make no mistake, the moment you start to bore me or annoy me, well, you know the drill—”

  And the next thing I know, she’s gone.

  Though her words continue to reverberate all around me.

  Teasing.

  Taunting.

  Refusing to dissipate as I busy myself with washing the blood from my hair and manifesting a new dress to wear.

  Readying myself to see Damen, who’s no doubt still waiting for me.

  Desperate to bury the evidence of what just went down, along with my own nagging doubts.

  eight

  “You sure you’re okay with this?” I turn toward Damen, more than willing to let him join me if he wants but still hoping to handle this one on my own. Things between him and Jude are always so weird, and even though I totally get the reason behind it, I still prefer to lessen the tension whenever I can.

  He nods, and one look in his eyes makes it clear that he is. His trust in me is complete, just as mine is in him.

  “Do you want me to wait or come back later?” he asks, more than willing to do either one of those things.

  But I just shake my head and gaze toward the store. “I don’t even know how long it’ll take. I have no idea what to expect.” I scrunch my nose and lift my shoulders before dropping them again. “All I know is I can’t avoid him any longer. Haven’s serious about going after him, she’s not about to back down. Trust me, she made that abundantly clear.” I swallow hard and look away. Still shaken from the scene in the bathroom, still reeling from the force of her power and strength, not to mention her ability to surprise me, overwhelm me, and control me in a way I hadn’t seen coming, and certainly hadn’t rehearsed for. But when I look at Damen again, I know I’m doing the right thing by playing it down. He’s freaked enough as it is, there’s no need to make it any worse.

  “I just—” I pause, searching for just the right words. Knowing how uncomfortable it must make him, the thought of me being alone with Jude, and wanting to make it clear that not only is it strictly business, but that I can totally handle myself where he’s concerned. “I just need to convince him of the seriousness of all this. I also have to try to help him find a few ways to protect himself, even though, short of hiring an immortal bodyguard, I’m not even sure what good it’ll do. But anyway, that’s my goal, and I have no idea if he’ll even agree to cooperate, much less listen to me. He could take me up on it, or he could kick me out within the first fifteen seconds and warn me never to return. Nothing would surprise me at this point.”

  Damen nods, his tone more knowing than jealous when he says, “Oh, I doubt he’ll kick you out…”

  He looks at me, leaving the thought unfinished, causing me to nervously fiddle with the hem of my dress. “Anyway.” I clear my throat, desperate to move away from all that. “The point is, I can always just manifest a car or something when I need a way home. I’ll just have to remember to ditch it as soon as I turn onto my street—don’t want to give Sabine yet another reason to freak.” I sigh, trying to imagine how I’d ever go
about explaining something like that—my ability to manifest large, expensive, inanimate objects, then make them disappear at will. Looking at Damen when I add, “But here’s the thing—”

  He meets my gaze.

  “As much as I appreciate this, and as much as I like being with you…you don’t have to do this. You don’t have to chauffeur me to and from school every day or anywhere else for that matter. I’m fine. Really. And I’ll continue to be fine. I can totally handle this. So…” I pause, hoping my words sound more convincing than they feel. “So please, don’t waste any more energy worrying about me, okay?”

  He smooths the leather-wrapped steering wheel with his thumbs, going back and forth, forth and back, the movement deliberate, rhythmic, then he says, “I can do everything on your list except that.” He turns, allowing his gaze to bore into mine, looking at me in a way that makes my heart race, my cheeks flush, as my skin begins to tingle and heat. “I can stop chauffeuring you if that’s what you want, but I could never stop worrying about you. I’m afraid that’s just something you’re destined to live with.” He leans toward me, cupping his hands around the sides of my face, his touch so soothing, so calming, his voice low and deep. “So, tonight? Shall we visit our favorite Summerland haunt?”

  I press my lips to his, softly, briefly, before pulling away. “I wish. But I think it’s probably better if I take the night off from all that. You know, stay home, pretend to eat dinner, pretend to do my homework, and pretend to be completely normal in every conceivable way so that Sabine can start to relax, find another focus, and get on with her life—which will allow me to finally get on with mine.”

  He hesitates, still not convinced of his inability to fix this despite what I’ve said. “And would you like me to come over and pretend to be your perfectly normal boyfriend?” He arches his brow. “I can do a pretty good imitation of that. I’ve played the part many times, had over four hundred years of experience so far.”

  I smile, leaning in to kiss him again, longer, deeper this time. Lingering for as long as I can, before pulling away with a sigh. The words hurried, breathless, I say, “Believe me, I’d like nothing more. But Sabine wouldn’t. So for now, I think it’s probably better if you stay away for a while. At least until things calm down and have a chance to sort themselves out. For some strange reason, she’s chosen to focus on you as the number one suspect to blame for my downfall.”

  “Maybe because I am.” He looks at me, tracing his finger down the length of my cheek. “Maybe she’s on to something without even realizing it. Ever, when you boil it right down to its very essence, to its very origins, I am the one who caused the change in you.”

  I sigh and look away, we’ve had this discussion before, and I’m still not quite willing to see it his way. “You—the near-death experience—” I take a deep breath and turn to him again. “Who’s to say for absolute sure? Besides, it’s not like it matters, it is what it is and there’s no going back.”

  He frowns, clearly not willing to take my side but willing to drop it for now. “Okay,” he says, almost as though talking to himself. “Maybe I’ll stop by Ava’s then. The twins started school today and I’m eager to see how it went.”

  I balk, trying to imagine Romy and Rayne navigating their way through junior high. Everything they know about modern American teenage life they learned either from my ghostly little sister Riley or reality shows on MTV—not the best sources, for sure.

  “Well, hopefully for them it was way more uneventful than ours.” I smile, sliding out of the car and closing the door between us, leaning through the open window when I add, “At any rate, tell them I said hi. Even Rayne. Or, should I say, especially Rayne.” I laugh, knowing how much she dislikes me, and hoping that someday I’ll be able to mend that—but knowing that day is still a long way away.

  Watching as he speeds away from the curb, leaving me with a smile that lingers, circling all around me like a hug, before I enter the store on my own, surprised to find it dark and empty, with no one around.

  I stand there and squint, allowing a moment for my eyes to adjust, before making my way toward the back. Freezing right there in the office doorway when I find him completely slumped over with his head on his desk.

  And the second I see him I can’t help but think: Oh crap—I’m too late!

  I mean, just because Haven said she’d spare me for the time being, doesn’t mean she’d extend the same courtesy to Jude.

  Though just after I think it, I catch a reassuring glimpse of his aura and immediately relax.

  Only living things have auras.

  Dead things and immortals do not.

  But when I notice the color, the blotchy, dull, brownish-gray haze that surrounds him, I can’t help but think: Oh, crap, all over again.

  As far as colors go, his is pretty much at the bottom of the aura rainbow; only black, the color of imminent death, could be worse.

  “Jude?” I whisper, my voice so soft and low it’s almost inaudible. “Jude—are you okay?”

  He lifts his head so suddenly, so startled by my presence, he knocks over his coffee. Causing a milky brown trail to race across his desk, just about to spill over the side and onto the floor when he stops it with the long, slightly frayed sleeve of his white T-shirt—allowing the liquid to spread into the fabric, leaving a sizable stain.

  A stain that reminds me of—

  “Ever, I—” He runs his fingers over his tangle of golden-brown dreadlocks, blinking a few times until he’s able to fully focus. “I didn’t hear you come in—you startled me—and—” He sighs, gazing down at the desk and mopping up the rest of the spill with his sleeve. Then, noticing my speechless, wide-eyed gaping, he says, “Trust me, this is nothing. I can either wash it, toss it, or take it to Summerland and cure it.” He shrugs. “A stained T-shirt is the least of my worries right now…”

  I lower myself onto the seat just across from him, still shaken by the stain and the new idea it just spawned. Hardly able to believe I was so caught up with training and Haven and all the drama she’s created that I hadn’t even thought of it until now.

  “What’s happened?” I ask, forcing myself away from those thoughts and back onto him, though vowing to return to them as soon as I can.

  Sensing that something terrible has happened and assuming it’s more threats from Haven, when he says, “Lina’s gone.” The words simple, stark, though the meaning is clear.

  I look at him, eyes wide, mouth open, but unable to speak and unsure what to say if I could.

  “Her van crashed in Guatemala, on the way to the airport. She didn’t make it.”

  “Are you…sure?” I ask, immediately regretting the words. It was a dumb thing to say, when it’s so obvious that he is. But that’s what bad news does—it creates unreasonable denial and doubt, prompting a search for hope in places where there clearly is none.

  “Yeah, I’m sure.” He wipes his eyes with his dry sleeve, gaze clouded with the memory of when he first heard. “I saw her.” His eyes meet mine. “We had a pact, you know? We promised each other that whoever went first would stop by and tell the other. And the second she appeared before me—” He pauses, his voice tired, hoarse, prompting him to clear his throat and begin again. “Well, the way she just glowed, the way she looked so…radiant… there was no mistaking it. I knew she’d moved on.”

  “Did she say anything?” I ask, wondering if she decided to cross the bridge or stay behind in Summerland, since, unlike me, Jude can communicate with spirit in all of its forms.

  He nods, his face beginning to lift ever so slightly. “She told me she was home. That’s what she called it, home. Said there was so much to see, so much to explain, and that it’s even better than the Summerland I told her about. And then, before she left, she said she’d be waiting for me when it was my turn—but not to hurry over anytime soon.”

  He laughs when he says it—well, as much as one can laugh when they’re consumed by grief. And I swallow hard and gaze down at my knees, tu
gging on the hem of my dress, straightening the seam until it fully covers them. Remembering the first time I saw Riley in my hospital room, and how it seemed so dreamy and unreal I pretty much convinced myself that I’d somehow imagined it. But then it happened again—and again—and it kept on happening until I was able to convince her to cross the bridge to the other side—which, unfortunately, made her disappear from me forever. Making Jude my only connection to her.

  I peer at him again, taking in his bleary aura, hollow gaze, and shaken face—so different from the cute, sexy, laid-back surfer boy I first met. And I can’t help but wonder how long it’ll take for him to return to that, or if he even can. There’s no quick fix for grief. No shortcuts, no easy answers, no way to erase it. Only time can do that, and even then, just barely. If I’ve learned nothing else, I’ve learned that.

  “Then, about an hour later,” he continues, voice so low I have to lean forward to catch it, “I got the call that confirmed it.” He shrugs and leans back in his seat, gazing at me.

  “I’m so sorry,” I say, knowing firsthand just how small those words are in the face of something so big. “Is there anything I can do?” Doubting there is, but extending the offer anyway.

  He shrugs, busying himself with his sleeve, his long dark fingers rolling the wet fabric away from his skin. “Make no mistake, Ever, my grief is for me, not Lina. She’s fine…happy even. You should’ve seen her—it was like she was headed off on her most exciting adventure yet.” He leans back in his seat, smoothing his tangle of hair, gathering it all together and holding it briefly, before releasing it again and allowing it to spill down his back. “I’m really going to miss her. Everything just feels so empty without her. She was more a parent to me than my birth parents were. She took me in, fed me, dressed me, but most importantly, she treated me with respect. She taught me that my abilities were nothing to be ashamed of, nothing I should try so hard to deny. She convinced me that what I had was a gift—not a curse—and that I shouldn’t let other people’s narrow minds and fears determine how I live, what I do, or how I perceive myself in the world. She actually made me believe that in no way, shape, or form did their uninformed opinions make me a freak.” He looks away, taking in the overflowing bookshelves, the collection of paintings on the wall, before returning to me. “Do you have any idea just how big a deal that was?”