by Alyson Noel
“Always.” He smiles, leaning in to kiss me but ending up distracting me so badly I nearly run the car off the road.
I push him away and right the wheel again. Gazing out at the ocean, watching the waves turn to foaming white froth as they crash against the shore, and clearing my throat as I turn to him and say, “Damen, what are we gonna do about the antidote?” Seeing the way his shoulders stiffen, feeling the way his energy shifts and changes but still forging ahead, knowing it has to be said. “I mean, I’m fully committed to you, to us, I think you know that by now. And as much as I enjoy our time in the pavilion, well—” I swallow hard, I’ve never been much good at discussing this kind of thing, I always end up a red-faced, embarrassed, sputtering mess, but still, I’m determined to get to it. “I miss you. I miss being able to touch you in this life. Not to mention I was hoping that someday we could break this four-hundred-year-old-dry spell and—”
I pause before his gate, waving at Sheila, who motions us in. Taking the hill and the series of turns that lead to his street, before braking in his driveway and swiveling in my seat until I’m fully facing him.
Just about to finish the thought when he says, “Ever, I know. Believe me, I do.” He reaches for me, cups his hand to the side of my face, as his eyes fix on mine. “And I haven’t given up. I’ve even gone so far as to turn the wine cellar into a sort of chemistry lab—and I’ve spent every spare moment in there hoping to surprise you.”
My eyes go wide, trying to calculate just how long it’s been since I last poked around Damen’s house, realizing it’s been a while. When I haven’t been avoiding him for one reason or another, we’ve been either training or making out in the pavilion.
“But if the wine cellar is a chem lab, then where do you store the elixir?” I ask, frowning as I try to picture it for myself.
“In the new wine cellar, where the laundry room used to be.”
“And the laundry room?”
“Gone.” He laughs. “But then, I never really saw the point of it anyway, when I can just manifest new, clean stuff whenever I need it.” But his smile soon fades when he says, “But, Ever, I don’t want to get your hopes up, because while I haven’t given up trying, well, so far at least, it’s been pretty slow going. I have no idea what Roman put in that drink, but everything I’ve tried up to this point has failed.”
I sigh, pushing my cheek hard against his palm, aware of the almost feel of his skin upon mine. Telling myself it’s enough, that it will always be enough, but even though I’m fully committed to that, I still can’t help wishing for more.
“We have to get that shirt.” My gaze meets his. “We have to find it. I know she still has it. There’s no way she’d get rid of it. She’s either keeping it for sentimental reasons or because she knows what it’s worth to me, or both. But, either way, it’s pretty much our only hope at this point.”
He looks at me in the exact same way he did the last time we discussed it—in full agreement that it is indeed important but completely unwilling to pin all of his hopes upon it.
“Surely it’s not our only hope?” he says.
But I shake my head. I’m not patient like him. I don’t want to spend the next several years enjoying brief respites in the various guises of my former self, just so we can enjoy a chaste smooch now and then, while he fiddles around in his former wine-cellar-turned-chem-lab on the side. I want to enjoy this life. The one I’m in now.
I want to enjoy it as fully and normally as any other girl would.
And I want to enjoy it with him.
“I can’t talk you out of this, can I?” he says, his voice as resigned as his sigh.
I shake my head again.
“Then I’m going with you.”
“Going where? I haven’t admitted to going anywhere.”
“Aw, maybe not, but a plan is surely forming, I can see it in your eyes. So you better make room for one more, because I’m coming with.”
“No, you hang with Miles, I’ll be fine. Really.”
But despite my protest, he’s already grabbing his phone, already texting Miles and telling him he’s got an errand to run so he’ll be a little late.
“So, where should we start?” he asks, pocketing his cell.
“The store.” I nod, having just confirmed it for myself. “But really, you don’t have to come, I’ll be fine on my own,” I add, giving him one last chance to back out.
“Forget it.” He buckles his seat belt again. “I’m coming along whether you like it or not. And just so you know, all this refusal, well, it’s really starting to give me a complex.”
I look at him, having no idea what that meant.
“Last time? When you broke into Haven’s house and chose to drag Miles along instead of me?”
I look at him, thinking I hardly dragged Miles, not to mention that I really didn’t have a chance to invite him since he was guarding Stacia. But then again, that’s not really the point. What I really want to know is how he happened to know about that when I hadn’t quite gotten around to filling him in on all of those details just yet.
“Miles mentioned it,” he says, answering the thought in my head.
I glance out the window, my eyes narrowed as I say, “Is this what it’s going to be like now that you’re Mr. Popular with all your new friends?” I turn toward him. “You’re gonna spend all your free time coaxing them to spill my secrets?”
“Only the good stuff.” Damen smiles, pressing his lips briefly to mine as I back out of his drive and make my way toward the gate. “Only the stuff I really need to know.”
thirty-three
We drive past Roman’s old store, Renaissance!, even though I have no plans to go inside since it’s too early for that. The last thing I need is another confrontation with Haven or any of the other immortals that work in the place. Yet I still slow as I near it, quickly calculating just how long it’s been since the last time I was there, and more than a little curious to see what’s become of it now that Roman’s no longer around.
But even though I expected to find some kind of change, I never expected to find it boarded up the way it is. The windows empty, the once elaborate displays dismantled and gone, with a door that’s not just locked but also bearing a sign that reads: closed! With the additional, hand-scrawled scribble of: For Good! Just underneath.
“I know I shouldn’t be surprised, but still, I didn’t see that coming,” Damen says, his voice soft and low, his eyes fixed on the sign. “I thought for sure Haven would’ve taken it over, or even Marco, or Misa, or Rafe.”
I nod in agreement, ditch the car by the curb, as the two of us scramble out, crossing the street until we’re standing before it. Peering through the window at some of the bigger pieces of furniture—the couches, tables, and display cases—that, for whatever reason, were left behind. Seeing that, for the most part anyway, with a few exceptions here and there, all of the smaller items like clothes and jewelry and such are all gone.
And I can’t help but wonder just whose decision this was, just who decided to shutter it for good. Not to mention just who Roman might’ve possibly left control of it to.
Being immortal and all, I somehow doubt he ever thought to make a will.
I take a quick look around, making sure no one’s paying any attention to us, before I close my eyes and open the door with my mind. Forgoing my original plan to wait until dark, figuring with the way things are going, this place could be empty by then, so it’s best to just strike while we can.
“You’ve become increasingly comfortable with the breaking and entering,” Damen says, his lips at my ear as he follows me inside. “Should I be concerned?”
I laugh, a startling burst of sound that echoes in this vast, high-ceilinged space. Motioning for Damen to close the door behind us as I place my hands on my hips and take a good look around—taking a moment to close my eyes and employ all my senses, trying to get a read on the place, tune in to where a stained white shirt might be hidden, as Damen stands be
side me and does the same.
But not getting much of anything, we decide to start right where we stand. Peeking inside antique armoires, wobbly old chests of drawers, sorting through everything quickly, methodically, but not finding the one thing we need. Damen heads for the back, the space Roman once used as an office and, once inside, calls for me to join him.
It’s a mess. An absolute mess. Like a tornado blew through it. Like the fault lines recently slipped. Reminding me of the way Jude’s store looked the day Haven left us for dead—and I take it as a sure sign that she’s responsible for this.
We pick our way through massive piles of papers all strewn across the floor. Damen stepping lightly, gingerly, while I’m not quite so graceful and accidentally go skidding and surfing a few times only to have him catch me and keep me from falling.
I dodge an overturned chair, scoot around a set of truly hideous, green paisley cushions pulled from the small love seat that’s shoved in the corner, pausing long enough for Damen to remove an emptied file cabinet from my path, before we make for a desk that’s almost as littered as the floor, covered in a mess of papers, and cups, and books, and debris so thick you can barely make out the fine inlaid wood underneath. The two of us pilfering through every last drawer, every last nook, until we’re sure it’s not here—convinced it’s not hidden anywhere.
Damen stands beside me, wearing an expression that’s closer to resolve than disappointment, since he never allowed himself to believe we might find it so easily. And even though he makes to leave, I’m not quite ready to join him. I can’t seem to keep from staring at the small wine fridge in the corner—its plug pulled, its door not just left open but hanging haphazardly off its hinges.
A small, innocuous fridge with nothing special about it, except for the fact that I’m sure it was once filled with elixir, though I’ve no idea who might’ve emptied it.
Was it Misa and Marco, who were last seen hopping a fence with two duffle bags filled with stolen juice?
Was it Rafe, who, well, I haven’t seen in so long I have no idea if he’s even still around?
Or was it Haven, who, from what I’ve seen anyway, seems to have developed a serious elixir addiction problem?
And, even more importantly, does it really matter anyway, considering my only real concern here is obtaining the shirt?
Damen nudges me, ready to move on. And since there’s no reason to stay, nothing to be gained here, I take one last look around, making sure I haven’t missed anything, then follow him out the door, the two of us slipping out just as quickly and covertly as we came.
No closer to obtaining what we need, though more assured than ever that we’re definitely getting closer, definitely making progress of some sort.
Haven’s world isn’t just showing signs of wear—it’s also starting to crumble all around her. And now it’s just a matter of time until she either reaches out for help or completely self-destructs.
Either way, I intend to be there.
thirty-four
Since the store ended up being such a complete and total bust, I drop Damen at his house so that he can help Miles rehearse, then decide to head home so I can regroup and hopefully come up with a new plan of attack. Feeling more determined than ever to locate that shirt, especially now that Damen and I are so solidly back on track.
I pull into the garage, heaving an immediate sigh of relief when I see that it’s empty. Sabine’s vacant space signaling that she’s either still at work or out with Munoz, and knowing that either way it allows me the promise of an empty house, some much needed time on my own, and a few hours of calm and peaceful, non-arguing silence, which is exactly what I need before I head out again.
And I’ve just walked through the side door and am about to make my way up the stairs to my room when it hits me:
A cold blast of energy.
The effect so stinging and frigid it could mean only one thing:
I’m not nearly as alone as I’d thought.
I spin on my heel, not the least bit surprised to find Haven standing behind me. Her body fidgety, twitchy, her formerly beautiful face reduced to a shockingly pale arrangement of sunken cheekbones, a sharply angled nose, grim shrunken lips, and eyes so narrowed and hollowed and red, it’s like gazing upon a crime scene photo.
Her lips twisting in a way so gruesome, it instantly transforms her into a vision even more lurid than she was just a moment ago. Scowling at me when she says, “Where is it, Ever?”
And suddenly I know exactly who dismantled the fridge in the store.
Know exactly what she’s here for.
Misa and Marco broke into her house to steal her elixir—it all makes sense now.
Roman never passed on the recipe, and without him, the rogues’ supply is cut off. And now it’s only a matter of time before their powers dwindle, and ultimately their youth and beauty are lost.
I’m Haven’s only hope of retaining her new powers.
Her new life.
Still, it’s not like I’m about to make it easy on her. Not when this could turn out to be just the solution I need.
She wants something I have—and I want something she has. So, under the circumstances, that leaves me pretty well positioned to broker some kind of deal.
I’ll just have to tread carefully, cautiously. I can’t afford to alert her to the true significance of the shirt, just in case she hasn’t realized it yet.
Lifting my shoulders casually, I say, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Then I smile, stalling for time, trying to get a better read on her as I formulate a plan in my mind.
But she’s not about to play along, she’s in much too big a hurry for that. She’s fading fast, barely holding on, and she doesn’t have time for this particular game.
“Quit fugging around and just give it to me!” She rolls her eyes and huffs under her breath, shaking her head in a way that throws her completely off-balance, forcing her to grab hold of the stair rail in order to steady herself.
I narrow my gaze, taking a moment to really study her, noting the way she appears so edgy, so jumpy, so out of whack and unsteady, she can barely stand still, can barely hold herself up without some kind of support. Focusing on her solar plexus, seeing it like a bull’s-eye smack dab in the center of her torso, fully prepared to take her out if I have to, though still hoping it won’t really come to that. Then I try to tune in to her energy, tune in to her head, try to get some kind of read on just where she’s at, and just how far she’s willing to go to get what she wants—but getting nothing for my efforts.
She’s not just shut off from me—she’s shut off from everything around her as well.
Belonging to no one and nothing.
Barely belonging to herself.
She’s like a walking talking Shadowland.
Dark.
Alone.
Totally caught up in a past she’s hell bent on avenging, even though the truth of it is nothing at all like the version she’s chosen to convince herself of.
“The elixir, Ever! Give me the fugging elixir already!” Her voice is shaky, high-pitched, raspier than ever, revealing just how much her desperation has come to define her. “I’ve already checked all the fridges—the one in the kitchen, the one outside by the barbecue, the spare one in the laundry room, and I was just about to head up to the den off your room, when, well, you came home and beat me to it. So, I figure as long as you’re here, I may as well ask nicely—seeing as what good friends we used to be and all. So, come on, Ever, for old time’s sake, for old friend’s sake, hand over the fugging elixir you stole!”
“That’s you asking nicely?” I lift my brow, noticing the way she eyeballs the space between the banister and me, as though plotting to sneak through it, prompting me to quickly grab hold of it, blocking all access.
She mumbles under her breath, gripping the stair rail so tightly her knuckles blanch to an impossible shade of white, looking at me with eyes so red they’re practically bleeding from the effor
t, leaving no doubt that she’s this close to snapping when she repeats, “Just give it to me already!”
I take a deep breath, and concentrate on surrounding her with a stream of calming energy. Hoping it will help to pacify her, cool her, ease some of the anger, temper and tone down the rage. The last thing I need is for her to go off, to explode in some sort of meltdown. Even though she poses no real threat to me anymore, she’s still a very real threat to everyone around her, and I can’t afford to let it get to that point.
But when I see the way my bubble of peace once again fails to penetrate, bouncing right off her in much the same way it did the last time I tried, I decide to give her what she needs instead. Figuring a couple sips of elixir can’t hurt—if anything, from what I can see, it should go a very long way toward taming the beast.
I turn, slowly, cautiously, careful not to alarm her or set her off in any way, heading up the stairs and motioning for her to follow, when I glance over my shoulder and say, “I’m happy to share, Haven. I’ve got more than enough, so no worries there. Though I am curious—” I stop on the landing and face her. “Why do you need my juice? What happened to yours?”
“I ran out.” She shrugs, glaring at me as she adds, “I ran out because you stole a bunch of it, and now I’m gonna take it back.”
She grins, the promise of a drink seeming to appease her just the tiniest bit, though her words leave me chilled. I have no idea how much juice Roman might’ve kept on hand, but if he was anything like Damen it must’ve been a pretty healthy supply, a year’s worth at the very least. Since it’s forced to ferment under the proper moon phases, it’s not like you can just whip up a batch spontaneously. And the fact that Misa and Marco only made off with a bagful means she’s managed to plow through the rest of it in such a short amount of time it’s not only alarming but goes a long way toward explaining the state that she’s in.
I head for my den and over to the mini-fridge that’s placed just behind the wet bar. Reaching for a fresh new bottle as I say, “I didn’t steal your elixir. I have no interest or need for that kind of thing.”