Night Star

by Alyson Noel

  Instead, I just grip tighter, press my body even closer, soothed by the wave of calm that emanates off his skin, as I dive headfirst into those deep ocean eyes of his.

  The small voice in my head reminding me of all the reasons I should run—my long list of suspicions, all the unanswered questions—but my body ignores it. Choosing instead to respond to him just like the girl in my slave life.

  Lifting my hand to his face, fingers shaking, aching, wanting nothing more than to meld with him.

  To disappear in his skin.

  My name escaping his lips, the sound like a moan. Like it pains him to say it. Like it pains him to feel me so close.

  But I won’t let him continue, won’t let him speak. I just press my fingers to the gentle swell of his lips, discovering their warmth, the way they yield to my touch, and wondering what it would be like to press my mouth there instead.

  Aware of the way his heart pounds against mine, the way it gains in intensity. And even though I try to fight it, even though I really and truly do make a full case against it, there’s just something I have to see for myself. Something I need to know, once and for all, so I can finally kill the question that plagues me. And I’m hoping his kiss will reveal it in the same way Damen’s once did.

  Is there really a connection between us?

  Is it the two of us that are supposed to be together, and Damen who purposely got in the way?

  And knowing there’s only one way to find out, I take a deep breath, close my eyes, and wait for the crush of his lips against mine.

  fifteen

  “Ever, please.” His fingers caress the soft underside of my chin, urging me to open my eyes and look at him.

  So I do. Reluctantly lifting my eyes to meet his. The startling blue-green of his gaze providing such stark contrast to the brown of his skin, the golden-bronze spray of dreadlocks that fall across his face, and his slightly crooked white teeth.

  “I’ve wanted this for so long…for so many years, but first, before we do this, I need to know—”

  I wait for the question—barely able to breathe.

  Never expecting him to say the words: “Why me? Why now?”

  I squint and lean back. That lure, that pull toward him that seemed so irresistible just a second ago, now starting to fade. Only a mere trace of it managing to hang on when I shake my head and say, “I don’t even know what that means.”

  My fingers loosen their grip on his shirt, watching as a small square of fabric falls to the ground as I start to push away.

  But he won’t let me go. Grasping both of my hands, and holding them tightly in his, he says, “What I meant was, what happened? What is it that changed between Damen and you that made you even think to consider me?”

  I take a deep breath, take in his hands, his fingers entwined around mine, his wrist resting against the crystal horseshoe bracelet Damen gave me that day at the track, and this time, when I’m ready to move, I do. My breath slowly returning to normal again, the spell of him waning more and more with every step I put between us.

  Knowing he deserves an answer, that there’s no way I can leave it like this, I take a deep breath and say, “I discovered something.” I sneak a quick peek before I quickly look away. “Something about the past…something that—” I swallow hard and start again, voice surer, stronger when I add, “Something he’s been hiding for a very long time.”

  Jude looks at me without a trace of surprise. He’s alluded to Damen’s secrets on more than one occasion. Of his inability to fight fair, especially when fighting for me. But then, in Damen’s defense, he’s freely admitted to all of that too. In fact, he felt so bad, so wracked with guilt, he actually chose to step aside for a while so I could make a clean choice for myself.

  And I did.

  I chose him.

  For me it was never a contest. From the moment we met, he’s all I could see.

  But what if I’ve been wrong?

  What if all this time—Jude was meant to be the one?

  I mean, he’s stood right there beside me in all of my lives—including the one I just recently learned about. And yet he’s always the loser, always the one getting shot down. Always the one who ends up alone.

  But what if it was never supposed to happen like that?

  What if all this time, I’ve been so captivated, so swayed by Damen’s magick I’ve made the wrong choice every time?

  Why is it that we keep coming back to each other again and again? Is it so we’ll have yet another chance at getting it right—to finally be together after all of this time?

  I gaze at Jude standing before me—he’s mesmerizing. Not in the same way that Roman was with his slick, golden glossiness—or even in the way of Damen’s dark and sexy tingle and heat. No, Jude’s more the cool and dreamy type—seemingly normal on the surface, but deep down inside, he’s so much more.

  “Ever—” He starts, his expression waging the battle between wanting to just grab me and kiss me, and wanting to show some restraint and try to talk to me first. “Ever, what did you see? What is it that was so bad it brought you to me?”

  And the way he says it, so aware of his age-old position as the discarded one—well, my heart breaks on his behalf.

  I turn away, taking in the bleachers, the scuffed wood floor, the basketball net with the hole in the side, allowing for whatever remains of his lure to wear off, so that logic and a long list of questions can stand in their place.

  Deciding to be firm and up-front, just state the facts as they are and see where it leads, I turn to him and say, “A while back, you sort of—” I shake my head. “No, not sort of, you definitely alluded to knowing some kind of secret about our shared pasts. It was after you’d been to the Great Halls of Learning for the very first time and everything about you seemed different. And when I asked you what happened in there, you played it pretty vague. But later, you mentioned some stuff about Damen not playing fair in the past, and how all that was about to change because, as you put it: knowledge is power, and, thanks to Summerland, you had that in spades—or something to that effect, and anyway, I need to know what that meant.”

  I stand before him, silent and still, waiting for him to respond. Watching as he squinches his eyes together as he rubs the space between them, fingers digging in deep, before he drops his hands to his sides and takes me in.

  “Where would you like me to start?” He shrugs, following it with a laugh that’s much closer to harsh and gruff than anything resembling joy.

  And I start to say, anywhere, start anywhere you choose, figuring it might be good to let him take the lead on this one, and allow him to reveal the things he thinks I should know. But then I think better. Despite the fact that I know Damen edited all of my lives, which means every last one of them holds some sort of secret he’d prefer I not know, well, there’s only one life—one secret—I really need to know right now.

  Only one in particular that brought me to this point—that made me want to kiss him to see where it led.

  “The South.” I look at him. “The antebellum South. What do you know about our lives back then—when you and I were both slaves?”

  He blanches, like seriously blanches. The light draining from his eyes so fast I can hardly believe I just witnessed that. Mumbling something inaudible under his breath as his gaze darts all around, pausing on the school mascot painted on the wall, while his hands and feet begin a nervous, fidgety dance.

  And seeing him react like that, well, I can’t help but wonder if I just unwittingly revealed something he didn’t yet know.

  But the thought vanishes just as quickly when he finally turns to me and says, “So, you know.” He takes a deep breath and shakes his head. “I gotta tell ya, Ever, I’m pretty shocked he’d even tell you about it. I have to say, no matter what I may think of him—that was pretty damn gutsy on his part. Or maybe just reckless, who knows?”

  “He didn’t tell me,” I blurt, before I can stop. “Well, not exactly anyway. Let’s just say I sort o
f…stumbled upon something he definitely didn’t want me to see.”

  Jude nods, gaze narrowing, changing, as it slowly moves over me. His voice grave and serious when he says, “Can’t say I blame him. It was definitely one of our very worst ones—if not the worst.” He shrugs. “Or at least that’s the way it turned out for me…”

  sixteen

  On Monday, I skip school again so I can go to Lina’s memorial.

  But it’s just an excuse. I would’ve skipped anyway.

  Despite Munoz’s claim that a diploma can only help me ensure a bigger, better, brighter future for myself, well, I beg to differ.

  Maybe it helps normal people by guaranteeing serious consideration from college admissions boards and prospective employers—but those things mean nothing to me. Even though just a week ago it was important to me too, now I finally see how misguided that was. How I’ve been avoiding the obvious fact that there’s just no point in following the normal course of events when I have a life (and a future) that is anything but.

  And it’s time I stop pretending otherwise.

  And, yeah, if I’m going to be perfectly honest, then I also have to admit that Damen plays a part in that decision as well—if not the most major part. Because the thing is, I’m just not ready to face him. Not yet. Maybe someday, maybe even soon, but at the moment, that day feels like a long way away.

  Though to his credit, he seems to be totally on board with it. Allowing me plenty of time and space to figure things out on my own. The occasional manifested red tulip that appears out of nowhere is his only intrusion, serving as a gentle reminder of the love we once shared.

  Still share.

  I think.

  I twist the cap on my bottle of water and gaze around the living room, looking for at least one familiar face in a very large crowd. According to Jude, Lina had no shortage of friends, and from what I can see it’s true. What he failed to mention is just how diverse they all are. I mean, as much as I love living here, Laguna Beach isn’t exactly known for being a melting pot, and yet every ethnicity you could think of is pretty much present and accounted for. And from the blend of accents that trill all around, it’s clear that many of them traveled from great distances for the chance to say their good-byes.

  I continue to stand there, awkwardly dangling the bottle of water by my side as I weigh my options of trying to find Jude to tell him I’m leaving, or hanging out just a little bit longer for appearances’ sake, when Ava waves at me from the other side of the room, and as she makes her way toward me, I quickly calculate how long it’s been since we last spoke. Wondering if she too belongs to the small group of people who feel abandoned by me.

  “Ever.” She smiles, leaning in for a brief, warm hug. Her heavily ringed fingers still clutching my arms, her large brown eyes carefully scanning mine, as she pulls away and says, “You’re looking well.” She laughs, the sound of it light and airy as she adds, “But then, you always do, don’t you?”

  I gaze down at the long purple dress I designed and manifested especially for this occasion, since Jude strictly prohibited the wearing of black. Claiming that Lina would hate to gaze upon a crowd of people all wearing the same, depressing color. She didn’t want people to mourn her life—she wanted them to celebrate it instead. And since purple was her favorite color, we were asked to show up in some variation of it.

  “So, is she here?” I ask, watching as Ava squints and tucks her wavy, auburn hair behind her ear, her whole face changing when she assumes the worst, assumes it’s Haven I’m asking about. “Lina,” I say, before she has a chance to even go there. Haven’s the last thing I want to talk about here. “I meant Lina. Have you seen her?” My eyes grazing over the citrine pendant she always wears, to the embellished purple cotton tunic, the skinny white jeans, and the cute gold sandals on her feet, before meeting her gaze once again. “You know I can’t see the ones who’ve crossed over, I can only see the ones who still linger.”

  “Do you ever try to talk to them, convince them to move on?” She hitches her purple purse up high onto her shoulder.

  I look at her like she’s crazy, the thought never even occurred to me. It took me so long to learn how to ignore them, to tune them out completely, I can’t even imagine engaging them now. Besides, I’ve got no shortage of my own problems to solve, the last thing I need to do is get involved with a bunch of misguided ghosts.

  But Ava just laughs, gaze dancing around the room as she says, “Trust me, Ever, they all manage to find their way to their own funerals. I’ve yet to see the spirit who could resist! The chance to see who shows up, who says what, who wears what, and who’s truly mourning versus who’s merely just faking it—it’s pretty tempting stuff.”

  “Are you truly mourning?” I ask, not really meaning it in the way that it sounded, like she might be faking it or something. I mean, I’m mostly here to support Jude and to honor someone who was kind enough to help me at a time when I really needed it. But even though I know Lina was Ava’s employer, I have no idea if it went any deeper, if they were actually friends.

  “If you’re asking if I’m mourning the loss of a kind, generous, compassionate, awakened soul”—she looks at me without blinking—“then the answer is yes, of course, why wouldn’t I be? But if you’re asking if my mourning’s more for her than for me—then I’m afraid the answer is no. The majority of my sadness is purely selfish.”

  “That’s exactly what Jude said,” I mumble, my voice wistful, as I gaze around the room, searching for a glimpse of him.

  Ava nods, tossing her mass of curls over her shoulders. “And when you lost your family, who did you mourn for the most?”

  I look at her, surprised by the question. And even though I want to say that I mourned entirely for my parents and Buttercup and Riley’s unrealized dream of being a teenager and turning thirteen—I can’t do it. It’s simply not true. Even though I felt their loss in a horrible, gut-wrenching, deep-down kind of way, I have to admit that the majority of my sadness was due to the fact that I was left behind while they all moved on—away from me.

  “Anyway.” Ava shrugs. “To go back to your original question, yes, I did see her. It was brief, only for a second really, but boy was it beautiful.” She smiles, her face lifting, cheeks flushing, as her eyes shine at the memory. And I’m just about to ask for a little more elaboration when she says, “It was right when Jude got up to speak. You remember the way he faltered and started to break down? When his voice cracked and he had to pause for a moment before he could start up again?”

  I nod. I remember it well. Remember the way my heart broke for him at that very moment.

  “Well, that’s when she appeared right behind him. Hovering just ever so slightly as she placed her hands on his shoulders, closed her eyes, and surrounded him with a beautiful bubble of love and light. And I tell you, not a second later he was back on track, able to finish his eulogy without a problem as she faded from sight.”

  I sigh, trying to imagine how that must’ve looked and wishing I could’ve seen it for myself. Gazing at Ava when I say, “Do you think he actually felt it—her presence? I mean, obviously he felt it since it helped him get through it, but, like, do you think he was aware of it? Do you think he knew it was her who helped him get through it?”

  Ava shrugs, motioning past the glass doors toward the patch of grass where he stands, talking to a small group of Lina’s friends. His long hair spilling down his back and over the sleeves of his purple tee that bears a picture of some vaguely familiar, multicolored Hindu deity on its front.

  “Why don’t you ask him yourself?” she says. “I hear you two are growing much closer these days.”

  I balk, my gaze immediately returning to her. Wondering if she actually meant it in the way that I think, and wondering who could’ve possibly informed her of that.

  “Well, obviously you’ve been skipping school in order to fill in at the store, even though I’ve made it perfectly clear, many times over, that I’m more than happy to do
it. And then, there’s the fact that Damen’s been looking pretty despondent these days—or at least that’s what I’ve gotten from the few glimpses I’ve had of him, though the twins have certainly confirmed it. They see him much more than I do, you know. What with him constantly whisking them off to the movies, or go-cart racing, or shopping at Fashion Island, or the water rides at Disneyland—just about every local Orange County attraction you can think of has been covered—at least twice. And as much as they love it, and as kind and generous as it is of him to do it, you really don’t have to dig all that deep to realize what’s really behind his sudden burst of altruism.” She pauses, looking right at me. “Clearly he’s looking for a distraction. Desperately trying to stay busy so he won’t obsess over you, and the fact that you’re no longer there for him like you once were.”

  My shoulders droop, all of me droops, thinking how the old me would’ve gotten very angry by now, would’ve already launched some ridiculous argument to defend myself or, at the very least, cut her off before she’d had a chance to say all of that.

  But I’m no longer that person. Not to mention there’s no denying the fact that everything she just said is true.

  I’ve made Damen sad.

  And lonely.

  And in need of distractions.

  And there’s just no denying it.

  Though it’s also not as simple as that. There’s a lot more to it, and I doubt she’s even vaguely aware of that fact.

  Still, like she said, I have grown closer to Jude. Though not in a romantic way like she assumes.

  While there’s no doubt that there’s definitely some kind of undeniable pull that seems to eternally link us—ironically, this time around, Jude’s the one who’s applying the brakes. Making it more than clear that he has no interest whatsoever in gaining only a temporary part of me.