Night Star

by Alyson Noel

  Sabine glances between us, clearly confused by the statement.

  But Haven’s quick to fill in the blanks. “I’m divorcing all of them actually, both my parents and my little brother. I’d divorce the housekeeper too if I could.” She laughs, the sound so unnatural, so disturbing, it instantly sets Sabine on edge. “Anyway, long story short, I moved out. I’m in the middle of getting emancipated so I don’t have to deal with their crap anymore.”

  Sabine frowns, eyes narrowed in a look I’ve come to know all too well, a look that clearly signals her outraged disapproval.

  But Haven’s immune to all that. If anything, it only seems to egg her on even further. Causing her to smile that much brighter when she says, “They just refused to accept me as I am, so, I just packed up my stuff and said—adios!”

  Sabine glances between us, probably wondering if I’m somehow playing a role in this, if I fed Haven the lines, told her just what to say and when. But even though the words clearly apply to the way Sabine’s been treating me, I had nothing to do with it. Haven’s a one-woman show.

  “Well, I’m sure they miss you very much.” Sabine nods, reverting to her courtroom litigator’s tone.

  But Haven’s not playing that game, the one where everyone acts all polite and politically correct and pretends that what was just said really wasn’t, and that everything will work out in the end despite a load of evidence piling up against it.

  She’s also way past playing the parent and/or guardian game where you work overtime trying to put your best manners on display, so your friends’ parents will like you, trust you, and invite you to come back again.

  Because Haven and I aren’t friends.

  And she couldn’t care less what Sabine thinks of her or if she’s ever invited back.

  So she shrugs and rolls her eyes and sings, “Doubtful!”

  Causing Sabine’s gaze to immediately harden and switch over to me as though I’m somehow responsible, that my silence, my not saying a word, my not doing anything to stop it, signals consent of some kind. When really, I’m just waiting for this whole thing to end. Waiting for Haven to finally shut up, for Sabine to finally give up, head into the kitchen, and put the groceries away, so I can finally make some progress toward closing the deal Haven and I made.

  Though, unfortunately, Haven’s far from done. Clearly relishing every last bit of tension she’s introduced and eager to add to it, she says, “But then, I don’t miss them either, so I guess that makes us even.”

  Sabine looks at me, ready to speak, but Haven just waves her hand in the air, temporarily losing control of the juice and watching as it hurtles toward the floor—sparking and flaring as it splashes up the sides, until she casually reaches out, flattens her palm, and catches it in midair. Her eyes glinting when she sees the way Sabine blinks, shakes her head, and instantly talks herself out of what she just saw, convincing herself that no one can actually move that fast, that it didn’t happen at all like she thought.

  “Whoops!” Haven laughs. “Well, anywho, don’t mean to keep you. Just came over to grab some of Ever’s elixir here.” She holds the bottle before her, tilting it from side to side, causing it to spark and flare, before pointing at the box I grasp in my arms, the one that houses the rest of the supply.

  “You came to get her…what?” Sabine squints, struggling to make sense of it, glaring suspiciously between the bottle and me, before rising up onto her toes and peering inside the box, wondering why she failed to pay it any real notice until now. She places her bag on the entry table and reaches for the bottle Haven happily offers. If it means trouble for me, Haven will gladly hand it right over.

  But this has gone far enough, and there’s no way I can let it continue.

  I can’t allow Sabine to get her hands on the juice.

  Can’t allow Haven to play me like this.

  “It’s nothing,” I say, shoving the box into Haven’s side, pushing hard against her. “It’s just that energy sports drink I like.”

  But Sabine’s not buying it. One look at her face is all it takes to know that she’s launched into a full-scale alert. Suddenly making the connection between my strange behavior, my refusal to eat, and all of my other strange, unexplainable, and just plain weird habits, assuming, somewhat correctly, that it all stems from this one single thing.

  Haven laughs, thrusting the elixir toward her, taunting her, tempting her, urging Sabine to try a little sip so she can see for herself just how good—just how refreshing—just how energizing and life changing one sip can be.

  And Sabine’s just about to do it, lured by the pull of Haven’s gaze, the spark of the elixir, and just about to take the bait, when Haven laughs even harder and snatches it away.

  Causing Sabine to shake her head, straighten her shoulders, and quickly pull herself together when she says, “I think you should leave.” The words ground between tightly clenched teeth. “I think you should go right now. And while I’m sorry to have to say it, Haven, you’re obviously very troubled and in need of some serious help, and until you find a way to get your behavior under control, I really don’t want to see you hanging around here anymore.” She reaches for the shopping bag, lifting it off the table and balancing it back on her hip as she continues to eyeball her carefully.

  “Oh, no worries.” Haven smiles, turning to leave. “You will not be seeing me again anytime soon. I have absolutely no need to ever return, now that I got what I need.”

  She reaches for the door and I’m right there behind her, determined to get this over with as quickly and seamlessly as I can, before the calming effects of the juice wear off and Haven starts raging again.

  But just as I’m about to step onto the stoop, Sabine stops me by grabbing hold of my arm. She has no intention of letting me leave, not now, and certainly not with a friend she just banned from her house.

  She narrows her gaze, fingers slipping down to my wrist, circling tightly, as she says, “And just where do you think you’re going?”

  My gaze meets hers, and I know I have no choice but to say it as calmly and succinctly as I can. Leave no doubt whatsoever that whether she likes it or not, she will not keep me from going through with my plan.

  “Sabine—I have to go somewhere with Haven. It won’t take long, and when I get back, we can talk all you want, but for now, I have to go.”

  “You’ll do nothing of the sort!” she cries, her voice high-pitched, shrill, as she grips me that much tighter, my wrist turning an angry shade of red that won’t even have time to bruise before it’s healed again. “Didn’t you hear me? You are not to hang around with that girl anymore. I thought I made myself clear?”

  I’m just about to yank free, just about to agree that yes, she has made herself clear, but that it’s not really her choice to make, when Haven smiles, lifts the box right out of my arms and says, “No worries, Ever. You stay with your auntie. She’s obviously very upset. I can get it from here.”

  And I watch as she heads for her car—Roman’s car—dumping the box on the passenger seat before settling in, revving the engine, and laughing hysterically as she waves good-bye and backs down the drive.

  Sabine’s fingers still on me, still clutching me, still keeping me from doing the one thing I need to do most—the one thing that could end this horrible curse and put my life on a whole new course of complete and total happiness—shouting, “Go to your room!” Her cheeks red, eyes blazing, face so full of outrage it makes me feel terrible for causing it.

  But that’s nothing compared to how I feel when I yank myself free. Pulling so hard and fast that the bag of groceries slips from her grip and sends a barrage of cans and fruits and vegetables and egg cartons and cottage cheese containers scrambling all across the floor, leaving a trail of curds, pulpy bits, and runny yellow yolk all over the polished travertine stone.

  Nothing compared to how I feel when I catch her expression—a horrible mix of hurt, outrage, surprise, and even worse—fear.

  Nothing compared to the regr
et I feel when I glance between the mess and her, wishing I could just make it disappear with my mind, erase it entirely, make it seem as though it never did happen—but knowing that’ll only serve to make things worse, I turn my back on it all, and head out the door.

  Desperate to catch up with Haven who’s just used the opportunity to renege on our deal. Having no idea where to start but knowing I need to start somewhere, and I need to start now.

  Calling over my shoulder to say, “Sabine, I’m sorry. Really I am. But there are things you just don’t understand—don’t want to understand—and, as it just so happens, this is one of them.”

  thirty-six

  As soon as my foot hits the stoop, I start running. Not wanting to waste the time it’ll take to go into the garage and get my car and start it up and back out of the drive and all the other steps in the whole “normal” routine I work so hard to keep up if for no other reason than to appease Sabine (even though pretty much all of my actions so far have done just about anything but appease her), but also not wanting to manifest anything while she’s still watching from the window. Knowing that’ll only result in a whole new slew of questions—questions I have no intention of answering.

  Her gaze follows me. I can feel the weight of it wrapping all around me in a horrible mix of anger, worry, and fear.

  Thoughts are things. Made of a very tangible form of energy. And hers are shooting straight to the heart of me.

  But despite feeling terrible about everything that just happened, it’s not like I can take the time to stop and worry about it now, there’ll be plenty of time for that later. I’ll no doubt have my work cut out for me trying to find a way to make it up to her, but for now, my only concern is finding Haven.

  I turn off my driveway and onto my street, thinking I’m finally home free, only to be confronted with the sight of Munoz slowing his Prius as he heads right toward me.

  Great, I mumble, watching as he lowers his window and calls out my name, his face clouded with a look of genuine concern when he asks, “Everything okay?”

  I stop, stealing a second to look at him and say, “Actually, no. Pretty much nothing’s okay. In fact, not even close.”

  He scrunches his brow and glances between the house and me. “Can I help?”

  I shake my head, starting to take off again, but then I think better, so I turn to him and say, “Yeah, please tell Sabine that I’m sorry. That I’m really and truly sorry for everything…for all the trouble I’ve caused, for hurting her in the way that I have. She probably won’t believe it, probably won’t accept it, and I can’t say I blame her, but, well, anyway…” I shrug, feeling more than a little foolish for having shared all of that, but it’s not like that stops me. “Oh, and failing that, you can always greet her with these…” I close my eyes and manifest a large bouquet of bright yellow daffodils, knowing I shouldn’t have done it, knowing it’ll only spawn a whole new slew of questions I have no time to answer, but still thrusting them upon him when I add, “They’re her favorite—just don’t tell her how you got ’em, okay?”

  And before he can reply, before I can take in the full impact of the shock on his face, I’m off.

  Having wasted more time than I can afford, I take one more second to manifest a black BMW for myself, just like the one Damen drives. Aware of Munoz’s bewilderment, his outright astonishment, as he continues to watch me from his rearview mirror. Seeing his jaw dropped down to his knees in a bug-eyed, did I really just see what I think I did kind of stare when I speed out of sight.

  Making my way toward Coast Highway, figuring I’ll find a way to deal with him later, as I accelerate along the series of curves and try to determine where Haven might’ve gone.

  My gut sinking the second the answer appears in my mind.

  The shirt.

  Now that she got what she wanted—thanks to Sabine’s interfering—she has no plans to make good on her end of the deal. She hates me so much, she’d much rather destroy the one thing I want, the one thing I didn’t just ask for but insisted upon in return for the juice, even though it clearly holds great sentimental value for her.

  Even though I’m pretty dang sure she has no idea of the promise it holds for me.

  But that’s hardly the point. As far as Haven’s concerned, the fact that I want it, the fact that I was willing to bargain for it, is reason enough to destroy it.

  I could tell by the way she looked at me. She may have been shaky, more than a little unsteady, but she’d had just enough elixir to allow her to think and act somewhat logically.

  So when I offered to provide her with a nice supply of juice if she gave me something in return, she just shrugged and said, “Fine. Whatever. Just go ahead and spill it already. What’s this big thing you so desperately need?”

  “I want the shirt,” I’d said, moving until I was standing right before her, seeing her squint in reply as I added, “the one Roman wore on his very last night. The one you snatched right out of my hand before you threatened me and told me to leave.”

  Her gaze narrowed, and the way she looked at me, well, it was clear she still had it. But it was also clear she had no idea why I’d want it, what the significance could possibly be. And I can only hope it stays that way, at least until I can get the shirt safely within my possession.

  “You mean, the shirt he was wearing on the night when you killed him?” she’d said, brow quirking crazily.

  “No.” I shook my head, keeping my voice steady and sure, my gaze focused on hers. “I mean the shirt he wore on the night he so tragically died an accidental death at Jude’s hands.” My gaze holding, making sure I had her full attention, when I added, “You hand over that white linen shirt he was wearing, and I mean that very same one, because trust me, Haven, I will know if you try to swap it for a fake, but anyway, you give me that and in exchange I’ll give you all the elixir you need.”

  She glanced between the box of elixir I’d just filled—the box I referred to as a good-faith down payment, since it was all that I had on hand—and me. Wanting so badly to deny me, but so completely overcome by her own de pen den cy, her own raging need, in the end, she was unable to do anything but reluctantly agree.

  Finally nodding her consent when she said, “Fine. Deal. Whatever. Let’s just get this over with, okay?”

  And that’s when we headed downstairs. Haven carrying a fresh new bottle she was well on her way to draining, and me lugging the box for safekeeping, determined to keep it from her until the exchange was complete.

  But then Sabine came home and wrecked everything.

  I sigh, switching my focus back to the present, just about to stop by her old house, the one where her parents and little brother still live, wondering if she might’ve stashed it there for some reason, primarily because it seems like the last place anyone would look, when I have this overwhelming urge to head somewhere else instead.

  Not knowing if it’s a message of some sort, a sign of some kind, or maybe even just some crazy powerful intuition, I follow it anyway. Every time I ignore one of my stronger instincts I live to regret it, so this time I pull a quick U-turn and follow its lead.

  Disappointed when I find myself at a place I’ve already checked. That Miles and I already checked, but still going ahead with it anyway. I approach the door, thinking how even though she claims it’s hers, having lived here for months now, I can’t help but think of it as Roman’s, as a flood of memories come rushing back.

  Remembering all the times I came here before—the times I knocked down the door, the times I fought with him, nearly succumbed to him, the time I watched Jude kill him—then pushing the thoughts aside as I make my way around a confusing maze of furniture. Stuff that up until recently lived in the store, and now that it’s been moved here, allows for only the slimmest path down the hall and into a den that’s also so jam-packed it requires a moment to take it all in.

  My gaze roaming among the antique armoires, the silk and velvet settees, the shiny Lucite coffee table that looks l
ike a reject from the eighties, and over to the huge stack of oil paintings in ornate gold frames, all piled up against each other, leaning against the far wall, while various items of clothing, from all different time periods stretching back hundreds of years, are strewn over practically every available surface, including the bar where Roman kept the crystal goblets he filled with elixir, as well as the couch where I, ruled by the dark flame within me, tried to shamelessly seduce him while wearing a façade that made me appear to be Drina. The same couch where everything changed the night I made Haven drink Roman’s special brew.

  My gaze traveling past all of that and all the way over to the blazing, stone hearth, where Jude cowers. Looking scared, shocked, defeated, and confused, while Haven stands before him, clutching the stained white linen shirt in one hand and Jude’s arm in the other. Having made the transformation back to a slightly healed version of herself, or at least where her teeth are concerned, though she’s still a long way from the old Haven, still completely ruled by her own overwhelming addictions and anger.

  “Well, well,” she says, turning to me, her eyes red and squinty. “Did you actually think you could trick me?”

  I shake my head. I’m as confused as she is as to what’s really going on here.

  My gaze darting between them, seeing the way Jude cowers, caught in her grip, clearly horrified at having been caught doing—well, doing what I’m not sure. I can’t quite make sense of what I’m looking at or what his goal could’ve possibly been.

  Has he figured out the truth behind the shirt—the promise it holds—and he’s trying to obtain it as a sort of peace offering for Damen and me?

  Or, even worse, and far more likely, is he here to steal it, destroy it, having only pretended to be friendly with Damen, to forgive him for the past, when really he’s been planning for this moment all along, refusing to give up on his final revenge?