by Alyson Noel
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 like 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?
And before I can do anything to stop it, she’s on him. Fueled by the juice that rages within her, the juice that I gave her, she lets go of his arm only to catch him by the throat. Lifting him high into the air as his feet kick and dangle beneath him, shaking the shirt before her, shaking it at me when she says, “What the fug is going on here?”
“I don’t know,” I say, careful to keep my voice low, steady, slowly approaching her with my hands held where she can see them. “Really. I have no idea what he’s doing. Perhaps you should ask him?”
She glances at Jude, sees the way his eyes bulge, the way his face grows swollen and red, and she drops him just as quickly, her grip switching to his arm to keep him from bolting, as he sputters and coughs and fights to catch his breath.
“You two plan this?” She glares at me.
“No.” I glance between her and Jude, wondering why he always has to show up at all the wrong times.
Why he always wrecks everything.
Knowing one thing for sure—it’s not a coincidence. There’s no such thing. The universe is far too harmonious for such randomness as that.
So what then? Why is it that every time I’m so
close to getting exactly what I want, Jude shows up at just the right moment to thwart all my plans?
There’s got to be something more to it—some sort of reason or meaningful explanation behind it—but what that reason or explanation could be, is completely beyond me.
Haven holds up the shirt, scrutinizing it, inspecting it, trying to determine why I’d want it, why Jude would risk so much to get it, what possible significance it might hold for anyone other than her.
Then she switches her gaze between us, noting how he gazes at the stain, noting how I watch him gazing at the stain—and that’s when she knows.
That’s when the lightbulb goes on and it all comes together.
That’s when she loses herself in peals of shoulder-shaking laughter.
Laughing so hard she can barely contain herself. Bending forward, one hand on her knee, she heaves and coughs in a series of thigh-slapping spasms, until she finally gets hold of herself, rights herself, and says, “I totally get it now.” She dangles the shirt from the tips of her fingers as a hideous grin spreads across her cheeks. “I do, I do indeed. But, unfortunately for you”—she points at me—“or, maybe, even possibly you—” She jerks her head toward Jude. “It seems like Ever here has a very big decision to make.”
thirty-seven
She turns, eyes darting between us as she says, “You know, at first I kept the shirt with me all the time. Carried it everywhere I went. To school, to the store, I even slept with it just so I’d never have to be far from his scent.” She shrugs. “I pretty much looked upon it as my last connection to Roman—the one remaining thing I’d ever truly have of his. But now I know differently. Everything you see here is mine. Roman never planned on dying, so he didn’t bother making a will. Which means no one else has any claim to his things, and I dare them to try. This is my connection to Roman.” She waves the shirt through the air, the fabric gently swaying as she points at the collection of antiques. Using her other hand to tighten her grip on Jude’s sleeve as she adds, “This house, these things, everything, all of it, belongs to me. I have reminders of him everywhere I look, so it’s not like I need some dumb white shirt anymore. No, you’re the one who needs it, Ever. This is all about the stain, right? It’s left over from that infamous antidote you came so close to getting if it wasn’t for this guy.” She grips Jude harder, causing him to flinch, but he refuses to cry out, refuses to give her the satisfaction of knowing she’s actually causing him pain. “And now it seems he’s done it again.” She turns to Jude, tsking as she shakes her head. “If this guy hadn’t gotten in the way, you’d be living happily ever after now, wouldn’t you? Or, at least that’s been your version of the story anyway. So I ask you, you still willing to stand behind that? You still willing to blame him for everything?”
I look at her, keeping my gaze steady, my body tensed, ready for anything, though refusing to answer, refusing to fall into whatever trap she has set.
But she just rolls her eyes, not at all dissuaded by my silence, saying, “Well, it’s not like it matters anyway, because what’s done is done, and it’s not like I need you to know what’s really going on here. You honestly managed to convince yourself that all the answers live here.” She wags the shirt before me. “In a big, green blob of a stain on a white linen shirt. You honestly plan to drop it off at some crime lab or, better yet, take it to the science lab at school so you can get extra credit for breaking down all the components, as well as finally getting your hands on the recipe that’ll allow you and Damen to, as Roman would say: shag your bleedin’ hearts out!” She laughs and shakes her head, her Ouroboros tattoo flashing in and out of view as she shoots me a pitying look, as though she can hardly believe the foolishness of it all. “So tell me, Ever, how am I doing so far? Am I right? Am I pretty much on track?”
But even though she continues to eyeball me, even though she pretty much nailed the truth on its head, I don’t answer, and I’m careful not to let on. I just continue to stand there, warning Jude with my eyes not to do anything as rash and stupid as the last time, while keeping watch over Haven, who’s still a long way from being at the top of her game, but is still able to do a good bit of damage and wreak a good bit of havoc, from what I’ve seen.
Taking great care to not let her catch me as I covertly call for backup. Sending a telepathic message to Damen that consists of nothing more than the image unfolding before me.
Knowing it’s just a matter of time before he appears.
All I have to do is stall until then.
“Listen, Haven—” I start, but I don’t get very far.
She’s seen it.
Seen the shift in me.
And because of it, she’s not about to indulge me any further.
And before I can do anything to stop it, she’s got Jude by the neck again, while she kicks the screen away from the fire and dangles Roman’s white shirt just over the blaze.
Her fingers shaking as the shirt dangles precariously. Allowing the flames to spark and lick and blacken the hem, as she looks at me and says, “No use wasting any more time here, is there? So whaddya say we just cut to the chase, shall we? Time to decide, Ever. The choice is yours and yours alone to make. What’ll it be—a lifetime of nonstop, happy shagging or—Jude getting to enjoy a long life?”
Jude gasps and struggles against her, but when he looks at me, instead of a plea for help, his gaze begs only forgiveness. His oxygen supply becoming more and more scarce the tighter she grips, yet he still allows me to see inside his head.
He came here for me.
Only for me.
He wanted to make good on his word, to prove that he really does just want to see me happy. He wanted to make up for what he did all those months before, right here in this house. And now, he’s ready to die for it if it should come to that. He’s fully prepared to sacrifice himself to see that I finally get what I want, to see that it’s done.
Do it! he urges, his gaze holding mine, the feel of it so warm, so loving it robs me of breath. Please, I just want you to be happy. And because of everything you’ve shown me, everything I’ve learned in Summerland, I’m free of all fear. Think of it as my final gift to you. I was wracking my brain, trying to think of a way to make up for everything, when I remembered Roman’s shirt, remembered the way you reacted the day I spilled my coffee and soaked it up with my sleeve. And after putting the two together, I realized this would be the perfect way to erase my mistakes.
He closes his eyes, but the thoughts don’t stop there, he continues to think: But now I’ve only made it worse, and I’m so sorry. I really, truly am. I just want you to know that my love has always been true and my intentions good. I’ve never once meant to harm you.
I choke back a sob, work past the knot in my gut, blink back my stinging wet tears, and glance between him and the shirt Haven holds just shy of the flames.
And I know that all I have to do to get the one thing I’ve sought for so long is to make the choice they’re both begging me to make.
Jude’s already given his consent. He’s practically pleading with me to do it already.
And Haven, well, Haven can hardly contain her excitement. This is exactly the sort of thing she’s come to live for.
Exactly the kind of thing she’s come to enjoy most in this world.
So I take a deep breath, allowing the words forgive me, to stream from my mind to Jude’s as I turn to Haven and say, “You know, this is the exact same kind of crap Roman used to play. And like I told him, I’ll tell you, I don’t play this game anymore.”
thirty-eight
She looks at me, clearly unable to believe what she just heard.
So I repeat it, leaving no room for doubt when I say, “Seriously. I’m not choosing. I’m not playing this game. So it looks like you’re gonna have to come up with something else—and hopefully it’ll be something a little more original, a little more unique. Take your time, though.” I lift my shoulders in a way that’s deliberately calm and cool. “I’m in no hurry. T
hough you might want to lighten up on poor Jude, unless, of course, you’ve decided to kill him after all, in which case, feel free to grip even tighter and finish the job. Either way, I’ll be right here. I’m not going anywhere ’til I get what I came for.”
She looks at me, hands beginning to shake from the effort, rage taking over again. Her scathing, hate-filled gaze moving over me as she says, “So help me, Ever, I will burn this shirt and kill Jude, and there’s nothing you can do to stop it.”
“No you won’t.” My voice remains firm as my gaze holds steady on hers. Noticing how she’s loosened her grasp just the tiniest bit, though doing my best not to let on that I saw, for fear that she’ll only tighten up and cause him great pain yet again. “I know of at least two very good reasons why you won’t even try.”
She looks at me, her entire body growing increasingly shaky as she quickly loses whatever grip she’d managed to hang onto until now.
“One, because it’s been a little too long since your last drink, and you’re already starting to suffer withdrawal.” I shake my head and cluck my tongue against the inside of my cheek, wearing an expression of disapproving pity. “Just look at yourself, Haven, you’re a hollow-eyed, sunken-faced, shivering wreck. It took years—centuries probably—for Roman to build up the kind of tolerance to drink as much as you have in just a few months. You can’t handle it, you’re in way over your head. Just look at yourself, will you?”