by Alyson Noel
Her fingers loosen, dropping the watering can to her feet, not seeming to care when it’s quickly swallowed whole by the mud. Her arm slowly lifting, finger shaky but still pointing right in my direction, when she says, “You.”
Damen instinctively moves to cover me, to block me from view.
But it’s no use. Her gaze remains firm, unwavering, as she continues to point, continues to repeat to herself, again and again:
“You. It’s really you. We’ve been waiting for you for so long now…”
Damen nudges me, whispering between clenched teeth. “Ever, don’t listen to her, just close your eyes and picture the portal—now!”
But even though we try, it doesn’t work. There’s no quick escape. No magick or manifesting to be had in these parts.
He pushes into my shoulder, grabbing hold of my hand as he urges me to run, turning on his heel and sloshing through the mud, doing his best to pull me along. The two of us stumbling, falling, taking turns picking each other up, as we continue to move forward. Doing whatever it takes to get back to our horse, to get out of here.
To gain some distance from the voice that continues to chase us.
Taunt us.
Repeating the same phrase over and over again:
From the mud it shall rise
Lifting upward toward vast dreamy skies
Just as you-you-you shall rise too…
thirty
The moment we walk through the gate, we start searching for Haven. But she sees us first.
I can tell by the way she stops—stops talking, stops moving, practically stops blinking and breathing—and settles for gaping instead.
She thought I was dead.
She left Jude for dead.
But apparently that didn’t turn out quite as she’d planned.
I nod in acknowledgment, taking a moment to push my hair over my shoulder to provide a clear view of my neck—still free of the amulet, just like she left it. Wanting her to know that I’m no longer vulnerable. No longer ruled by a weak spot. No longer endangered by a lack of discernment, trusting all the wrong people or misusing knowledge.
I’ve totally and completely risen above it.
Leaving her no choice but to deal with me now that she can’t do away with me.
And when I’m sure she’s had enough time to process all that, I lift the hand that’s clasped with Damen’s, raising it high enough for her to see. Wanting her to know we’re still together, that we weathered the storm, that she cannot defeat us, nothing can, so it’s best not to try.
And even though she quickly turns away, turns back to her friends and tries to carry on as though everything’s normal, we both know it’s not. I’ve put a major dent in her plans, and if she doesn’t get the full extent of it yet, she soon will.
We move past her, through the quad, and all the way over to the bench where Stacia sits by herself with a hoodie pulled over her head, earbuds shoved in her ears, and a pair of oversized designer sunglasses shielding her face in an attempt to deflect and ignore the stream of insults coming from just about every single student that passes, while she waits for Damen to show up and defend her from them.
I stop, struck by the way she looks just like me, or at least the old me, wondering if she sees it too, if she’s managed to tune in to the irony of it.
Damen squeezes my hand, his gaze questioning, having misread my hesitation as an unwillingness to go through with it, even though we’ve been over it a million times already.
“I can handle it.” I nod, glancing at him as I add, “Seriously. No worries. I know exactly what to say.”
He smiles and leans in to kiss me, his lips soft, sweet, as they brush across my cheek. A quick and easy reminder that he loves me—that he’s with me, always will be. But while it’s definitely nice, and while I definitely appreciate it, I no longer question those things.
Stacia gazes up from her iPod, wincing the second she sees me. And I can’t help but notice the way her mouth goes grim, the way she involuntarily hunches her shoulders and pulls them way in when I claim the space just beside her.
Having no idea what I could possibly want, but clearly convinced that whatever it is, it cannot be good, she pushes her glasses onto her forehead and shoots Damen a quick, help me kind of look, but he just claims the space right beside me, as I shake my head and say, “Don’t look at him, look at me.” My gaze holds on hers. “Believe it or not, I’m the one who’s going to get you out of this mess. I’m the one who’s going to put everything back the way it was. Or at least, almost the way it was.”
Her eyes dart between us as her fingers pick at the rolled hem of her dress. Unsure if I’m actually being sincere or if she’s being played in some sort of payback plan that I’ve made.
Just about to get up and leave, take her chances with the hostile masses, when I stop her by saying, “But, as I’m sure you’ve already guessed, there is one condition.”
She looks at me, gaze wary, assuming the absolute worst.
“The condition being that when I return you to table A, you use your popularity for good and not evil.”
She shakes her head, then bursts into a nervous laugh that ends almost as quickly as it begins. Unable to determine whether I’m joking or serious, and again looking to Damen for the answer, but the only answer he gives is a casual shrug as he motions toward me.
“I’m not joking. I’m one hundred percent serious. In case you haven’t noticed, in case you’ve already forgotten, you’ve been nothing but a complete and total bitch to me from the very first day I arrived at this school. You took way too much pleasure in making my life a living hell. And I’m willing to bet you spent more time plotting against me than you did studying for your SATs.”
She gazes down at her knees, cringing at my list of accusations and flushing under my scrutiny, though wisely choosing not to speak. I’m far from through with her yet, and there’s plenty more where that came from.
“Not to mention how you tried to steal my boyfriend right out from under me—on more than one occasion.” My eyes narrow on her, devoid of all mercy. “But let’s not pretend I was the only one you tortured, because I think we both know that’s hardly the case. Pretty much anyone you perceived as either weaker than you or somehow beneath you or, heck, even some kind of threat to you, was a target as far as you were concerned. You even went after your supposed best friend.” She looks at me, nose scrunched, eyes squinty, prompting me to say, “Um, hel-lo, Honor?” I shake my head, wondering if I’m not just wasting my time, if it’s actually possible to get through to someone as vain and selfish and emotionally clueless as her. “Why do you think she turned against you? You think it’s all Haven’s fault? Think again. She’s been planning this for some time now, mostly because you treated her like crap—the same way you treat everyone. But also because you even tried to steal her boyfriend, and from what I heard, that was the last and final straw.”
She swallows hard, combing her fingers through her hair, rearranging it in a way that partially covers her face. Completely unwilling to look at me and reluctant for me to see her, but at least she’s not trying to deny what we both know is true.
“But I also hear you were as successful with that as you were when you tried to steal Damen.” I narrow my gaze and shake my head, though I leave it at that, figuring I’ve gloated enough as it is.
“And despite the fact that your behavior is so completely cruel and calculating and totally uncalled for, I’m still gonna help you get your old position back.”
She searches my face, trying to determine if it really is true, then quickly returning to the intense study of her spray-tanned knees as soon as I confirm it.
“And it’s not because I like you—because I really, truly don’t—and it’s not because I think you deserve it—because I definitely know you don’t—it’s because what Haven is doing, believe it or not, is even worse than what you used to do. And since I have no interest in being the queen bee of the school, I’ve decided t
o return the position to you. But, like I said, it comes with conditions. The main one being that starting right now, from this moment on, you’re gonna have to find another way to build yourself up. You’re gonna have to stop tearing everyone down in order to make yourself feel bigger and better because that’s pretty much the lowest, cheapest thing a person can ever do. And if this experience of yours, this reversal of your social fortune, hasn’t taught you that, then I don’t know what will. I mean, now that you’ve experienced what it’s like to be on the other side, now that you know firsthand how it feels to be ostracized and treated as badly as you used to treat everyone else, I can’t imagine you’d really want to make anyone go through that again. But then, maybe you do. There’s really no saying with you.”
She continues to sit there, shoulders hunched, hair hanging in a curtain between us. Her head bobbing as she taps the toes of her expensive designer sandals together, the only clue that she’s listening, taking me seriously, and that’s all I need to continue.
“Because the thing is, you’re smart and pretty, and you have all the advantages anyone could ever want in this world, and honestly, that alone should be enough to empower you. So maybe, just maybe, instead of acting like such a greedy little brat and trying to steal everything you know you can’t have, you can concentrate on finding a way to use your gifts to be a good influence on others. You may think it’s corny, you may think I’m ridiculous, but I’m totally serious. If you want to go back to being the rock star of this school, then that’s exactly what you’re going to do. Otherwise, I have no interest in helping you. For all I care, you can spend the rest of the year like this, and neither Damen nor I will lift a finger to help you.”
She takes a deep breath, then glances between us, sighing and shaking her head, directing her words mostly at Damen when she says, “Is she serious? Is this for real?”
But Damen just nods, slides his arm around me, and pulls me even closer. “It is. So you should probably listen to her and take notes if you need to.”
She sighs, taking a moment to gaze around a school she used to rule and now fears. And even though it’s clear she’s far from converted, that she’s only gone along this far because she’s hit rock bottom and has nothing left to lose, nowhere else to go but down even further, it’s still a start.
Still good enough for me.
So I give her another moment to let it really sink in, waiting for her to turn to me and nod her agreement, when I say, “Okay, so here’s where you start…”
If I’d had my way, she would’ve started right then and there. And Damen and I would’ve watched as she walked right up to Honor and put the plan in motion.
But Stacia needed more time.
Time to think it over, time to get used to the idea. Even though she clearly wanted to be on top again, she was so unused to the concept of apologizing, she ended up requiring not only a good deal of convincing but also quite a bit of coaching to find the right words.
Still, as much as I pushed her, as much as I tried to convince her it was the right thing to do, deep down inside, I really didn’t expect it to work—or at least not right away. I was more interested in getting her used to the idea of being a better person, and if I’m going to be perfectly honest, then I also have to say that I wanted her to have no doubt in her mind that I meant what I said.
My help came with conditions. And if she wanted it, well, she’d have to earn it.
I wasn’t to be messed with again.
So by lunch, when Haven and her minions stroll out of class only to find their table occupied by me, Damen, Miles, and Stacia—well, they’re not quite sure what to make of it.
And it’s pretty clear that Haven’s not quite sure what to make of me.
But then, neither is Honor, for that matter.
They just sort of stand there, loitering awkwardly, gawking in disbelief as Craig and his friends slowly move toward us, gratefully taking the seat Damen just offered. Acknowledging the gesture with a “Hey” and a nod, which may seem simple on the surface but is definitely something they never would’ve bothered with before.
And while Haven continues to stand there, hands shaking in fury, eyes narrowed and red, I pretend not to notice. Looking right past the storm cloud of hate that emanates from her when I say, “You’re welcome to join us if you want, as long as you behave yourself, that is.”
She rolls her eyes, mumbles a slew of obscenities under her breath, and starts to turn away. Fully expecting her flock of minions to follow, but her power over them is no longer what it once was. It’s waning. And to be honest, it’s pretty clear that they’re all getting a little sick of her. So when they accept Damen’s offer to join us instead, she turns to Honor, eyes blazing, virtually daring her to choose.
And just when Honor starts to turn away from us and move toward Haven, Stacia jumps up from her seat and says, “Honor, wait—I’m—I’m really sorry!”
The words sounding so shrill, so uncomfortable, so foreign coming from her that Miles instantly bursts out laughing, and I have to squeeze his knee—hard—to get him to stop.
Stacia looks at me, eyes narrowed, brows merged, as if to say: See, I tried, but it doesn’t work!
But I just nod toward Honor, seeing the way she’s stopped, the way she’s turned, her head tilted, gaze full of questions, wavering between two supposed best friends, neither of whom she particularly likes.
Hesitating for so long that Haven storms off in a huff. And even though I’m tempted to go after her, tempted to try to calm her, find a way to help her or at least talk some sense into her, I don’t. Maybe later I will, but not now. For now I’ve got to see this thing through.
I nudge Stacia, nudge her with my eyes, with my mind, shoving my energy up against hers, urging her to keep going, to not stop now, even though the territory may seem scary and unfamiliar.
And a moment later, they’re gone.
Walking side by side, Honor shouting, hurling the long list of accusations, all the very good reasons why Stacia should apologize, while Stacia patiently listens, just like I coached her to do.
“Are you eavesdropping?” Miles says, elbowing me and pointing toward them.
“Should I?” I look at him.
“Well, yeah.” He squints. “I mean, what if it’s not what you think? What if they’re both plotting against you?”
But I just smile, watching Stacia’s aura shift and change, becoming just a bit more vibrant with each passing step. Knowing she still has a long way to go, that she may never really arrive, but still secure in the knowledge that auras never lie. And hers is off to a semi-decent start.
Taking a sip of my elixir and looking at Miles when I say, “Trust works both ways. Aren’t you the one who told me that?”
thirty-one
Even though it shows all the signs of turning into an insanely uncomfortable situation, Damen still insists on going to Mystics and Moonbeams. And this time, just before we climb out of my car and head in, I’m the one who questions him on whether or not he truly wants to go through with it.
But he just looks at me and says, “Ever, for four hundred years we’ve been circling each other. Don’t you think it’s finally time to call for a cease-fire?”
I nod, not doubting for a minute that it is indeed time, though I’m not at all sure that Jude will agree. It’s a lot easier to be logical and reasonable about these things when you’re the one on the winning team.
He holds the door open as I make my way in. Spotting a few familiar customers milling about—the woman who collects angel figurines, the guy who’s always bugging us to get an aura video station, even though from what I’ve seen of his, he’s bound to be disappointed by the results, and the older woman with the beautiful purple glow all around her who Ava’s currently assisting with the meditation CDs—while Jude sits behind the counter, taking small sips of coffee. His aura flaring the moment he sees us—especially Damen—though it’s not long before it settles and calms, and I sigh in relief. Knowing
it was just the result of an age-old, knee-jerk reaction, the kind that may require some time to phase out, but someday, if Damen has his way, it will.
He moves ahead of me, eager to get this thing started. Making straight for the counter with a ready smile and a softly spoken “Hey,” as Jude takes another sip of his coffee and merely nods in reply. His gaze dancing between us, apprehensive and unsure, and I really hope he doesn’t think we came here to gloat.
“I was wondering if we could maybe talk.” Damen motions toward the back. “Somewhere private, perhaps?”
Jude hesitates for a moment, taking a series of slow contemplative sips, before tossing his cup and leading us into his office. Settling himself behind the old wood desk, while Damen and I claim the two seats on the opposite side.
I watch as Damen leans forward, his gaze intent, face earnest, determined to get right to the point when he says, “I’m guessing you really must hate me by now.”
But if Jude’s surprised by the words, he doesn’t show it. He just shrugs, leans back in his seat, and rests his hands flat against his stomach. His fingers splayed across the colorful mandala symbol that blazes across his white tee.
“And it’s not that I’d blame you if you did,” Damen says, eyes steady, focused on Jude. “Because I’ve no doubt committed my share of hateful acts over the last—” He glances briefly at me, still unused to voicing it out loud, even though he finds himself doing so more and more these days. “Over the last six hundred and some odd years.” He sighs.
Both of us watching as Jude tilts his seat back as far as it will go, taking a moment to gaze up at the ceiling, pushing his fingers into a steeple, before the whole thing collapses and he drops forward again, his gaze boring into Damen’s when he says, “Dude, seriously, what’s that about?”
Damen squints, as I shift uncomfortably in my seat. This was a bad idea. We never should’ve come here like this.