The Immortals 3 - Shadowland (9 page)

I freeze, suddenly grasping a new understanding in Riley’s interest in them—one that’s got far less to do with me, and everything to do with her. “How old are you guys?” I whisper, looking to Romy for the answer. “Or should I say, how old were you when you first arrived in Summerland?” Knowing they haven’t aged a day since.

“Thirteen,” Romy says, knitting her brow. “Why?”

I close my eyes and shake my head, stifling a laugh as I think:
I knew it!

Riley always dreamed of the day she’d be thirteen, a bona fide teenager having finally made it to the important double digits. But after dying at twelve, she chose to hang around the earth plane, living her adolescence vicariously through me. So it only makes sense she’d try to convince Romy and Rayne to return, not wanting anyone else to miss out like her.

And if Clara can find the strength, and Riley the hope, in situations so incredibly dire and bleak, surely I can overcome Roman.

I glance between the twins, knowing they can’t stay here on their own or come home to live with Sabine and me, though there is someone who’s quite able and ready, if not entirely willing to lend us a hand.

“Grab your stuff,” I say, heading for the door. “I’m taking you to your new home.”

The second we step outside I realize we’ll need a car. And since I’m more interested in speed than comfort, especially after seeing the way the twins cling to each other as they gaze around warily, I manifest something that’ll get us there fast and quickly herd them in. Ordering Romy to sit on Rayne’s lap as I get myself settled and step on the gas, navigating the streets with surprising skill, while the twins practically hang out the window, gaping at all that we pass.

“Have you guys been inside this whole time?” I glance at them, never having seen anyone react to the beauty of Laguna Beach in quite the same way.

They nod, never once averting their gaze. Squirming in their seat as I pull up to the gate. Allowing the uniformed guard to peer through the window and scrutinize them, before letting us in.

“Where are you taking us?” Rayne eyes me suspiciously. “What’s with the guards and big gates? Is this some kind of prison?”

I head up the hill, glancing at her when I say, “Don’t you have gated communities in Summerland?” Never actually having seen one myself, but then again I haven’t lived there for the last three centuries like they have.

They shake their heads, eyes wide, clearly on edge.

“Not to worry.” I turn onto Damen’s street and into his drive. “It’s not a prison, that’s not what the gates are for. They’re more to keep people
out
rather than
in
.”

“But why would you want to keep people out?” they ask, two childlike voices blending into one.

I squint, having no idea how to answer since it’s not like I was raised like this either, all the communities in my old hood were open access. “I guess it’s meant to keep people—” I start to say
safe
, but that’s not really it either. “Anyway.” I shake my head. “If you’re going to live here, then you better get used to it. That’s pretty much all there is.”

“But we’re
not
going to live here,” Rayne says. “You said this was just a temporary fix until you find a way to get us back,
remember
?”

I take a deep breath and grip the wheel harder, reminding myself how scared she must feel, no matter how bratty she gets.

“Of course it’s temporary.” I nod, forcing a smile.
Or at least it better be, because if not, someone’s going to be extremely displeased.
I climb out of the car and motion for them to follow, saying, “Ready to see your new
temporary
home?”

I head for the door, the two of them close at my heels as I stand right before it, debating whether or not I should knock and wait for Damen to open it or just stride right in since he’s probably asleep. And I’m just about to do the latter when Damen swings the door open, takes one look at me, and says, “Are you okay?”

I smile, tacking on a telepathic message of:
Before you say anything—anything at all—just try to stay calm and give me a chance to explain
—his eyes curious, questioning as I say, “Can we come in?”

He moves aside, eyes wide with shock when Romy and Rayne step out from behind me and barrel right into him. Skinny arms wrapped around his waist, gazing up at him adoringly as they squeal, “Damen! It’s you! It’s really you!” And as nice as this little reunion is, I can’t help but notice how their reaction to him, with all the love and excitement, is pretty much the opposite of their reaction to me.

“Hey.” He smiles, ruffling their hair and bending down to plant a kiss on the top of their heads. “How long has it been?” He pulls away and squints.

“Last week,” Rayne says, complete adoration displayed on her face. “Seconds before Ever added her blood to the antidote and wrecked
everything
.”

“Rayne!” Romy glances between her sister and me, shaking her head. But I just let it go. This is one battle I’ll never win.

“I meant
before
that.” Damen squints into the distance, trying to remember the date.

They look at him, a mischievous gleam in their eyes when they say, “It was just over six years ago when Ever was
ten
!”

I gape, eyes practically popping out of my head as Damen laughs. “Ah, yes. And I have you two to thank for helping me find her. And since you know how much she means to me, I’d appreciate your kindness toward her. That’s not too much to ask—
is it
?” He chucks Rayne under the chin, causing her to smile as her cheeks flush bright pink.

“So to what do I owe this incredible honor?” He leads us into the still empty living room. “Of being reunited with my long lost friends, who, I might add, haven’t aged a day since we met.”

They look at each other and giggle, clearly prepared to be charmed by anything he says. And before I can even think of a reply, find the right words to slowly break him in and get him used to the idea of their living with him, they look at each other and shout, “Ever said we could live with you!”

Damen glances at me, smile still planted on his face, as a look of pure horror creeps into his eyes.

“
Temporarily
,” I add, gaze meeting his, sending a barrage of telepathic red tulips his way. “Just until I find a way to get them back to Summerland, or their magick returns, whichever comes first.” Tacking on a mental note of:
Remember when you said you wanted to improve your karma, to make up for your past? Well, what better way than to help someone in need? And this way you can keep the house, since you’ll need the extra space. It’s the perfect solution. Everyone wins!
Nodding and smiling so eagerly I’m like a bobble head doll.

Damen glances first at me, then the twins, laughing and shaking his head when he says, “Of course you can stay. For as long as you need. So what do you say we all head upstairs so you can pick out your rooms?”

I sigh, my perfect boyfriend proving himself even more perfect. Following behind as the twins race up the stairs—happy, giggling, completely transformed now that they’re in Damen’s care.

“Can we have this room?” They ask, eyes lighting up as they stand in the doorway of Damen’s
special
room that’s still devoid of his things.

“No!” I answer too quickly, wincing when they turn, eyes narrowed and glaring at me. But even though I feel bad about the negative start, I’m determined to return this room to its normal state, and there’s no way I can do that if they’re camping in it. “It’s taken,” I add, knowing it did nothing to soften the blow. “But there’s plenty more, this place is huge, you’ll see. There’s even a pool!”

Romy and Rayne glance at each other before marching down the hall, heads bobbing together, whispering quietly, not bothering to hide their annoyance with me.

You could’ve just given it to them
, Damen thinks, close enough to send a charge through my veins.

I shake my head and walk silently alongside him, telepathically replying,
I want to see it filled with your things. Even though they no longer mean anything to you, they mean a great deal to me. You can’t just toss out the past—can’t just turn your back on the things that defined you.

He stops, turning to me as he says, “Ever, we are not defined by our things. It’s not the clothes that we wear, the cars that we drive, the art we acquire—it’s not where we live—but
how
we live that defines us.” His gaze bores into mine, as he gathers me into a telepathic embrace, the effect seeming so real, it robs me of breath. “It’s our actions that are remembered long after we’re gone,” he adds, smoothing my hair as his lips telepathically meet mine.

True
. I smile, enhancing the image he created with tulips and sunsets and rainbows and cupids and all manner of clichéd romantic themes that make us both laugh.
Except that we’re immortal
, I add, determined to sway him to my side.
Which means none of that really applies. So with that in mind, maybe we can just
—

But I don’t even get to finish before the twins call for us, shouting, “This room! I want this one!”

Since the twins are so used to being together, I was sure they’d want to share the same space and even get bunk beds or something. But the moment they checked out the size of the next room, and the one after that, they each staked their claim and never looked back. Spending the next several hours directing Damen and me to decorate down to their most minute specifications, demanding we manifest beds, dressers, and shelves, only to change their minds, have us empty the room, and start all over again.

But as long as Damen was using his magick, I didn’t complain. I was far too relieved to see him manifesting again, even if he was still refusing to manifest anything for himself. By the time we finished, the sun was starting to rise, and I knew I’d better return home before Sabine woke up and noticed I was gone.

“Don’t be surprised if I don’t make it to school today,” he says, walking me to the front door.

I sigh, hating the thought of going without him.

“I can’t leave them here on their own. Not until they get settled in.” He shrugs, hooking his thumb over his shoulder and pointing upstairs where the twins are finally, mercifully, asleep in their beds.

I nod, knowing he’s right, and vowing to get them back to Summerland soon, before they get too comfortable here.

“I’m not sure that’s the solution,” he says, sensing my thoughts.

I squint, unsure where he’s going, but getting an uncomfortable ping in my gut nonetheless.

“I’ve been thinking—” He cocks his head to the side, thumb tracing his stubble-lined chin. “They’ve been through a lot—losing their home, their families, everything they’ve ever known and loved—their lives taken so abruptly, they hadn’t had a chance to even live them—” He shakes his head. “They deserve a real childhood, you know? A fresh start in the world—”

I gape, wanting to respond but the words just won’t come. Because while I also want them to be happy and safe and all of those things, as far as the rest goes, we’re no longer on the same page. I was planning for a short little visit, a couple of days, or at the very worst—weeks. Never once did I entertain the idea of becoming surrogate parents, especially to twins who’re just a few years younger than me.

“It was just a thought.” He shrugs. “Ultimately, the decision is theirs. It’s their life.”

I swallow hard and avert my gaze, telling myself this is nothing that has to be settled just yet, heading toward my manifested car when Damen says, “Ever. Seriously? A Lamborghini?”

I cringe, flushing under his gaze. “I needed something fast.” I shrug, knowing he’s not buying it the second I see his face. “They were scared of being outside, so I needed to get them here quickly.”

“And did it need to be shiny and red as well?” He laughs, glancing between the car and me and shaking his head.

I press my lips together and look away, refusing to say anything more. I mean, it’s not like I was planning to keep it. I’ll get rid of it the second I get home and pull into my drive.

I open the door and climb in, suddenly remembering the thing I meant to ask him before. Taking in the elegant lines of his face as I say, “Hey Damen—how’d you open the door so quickly? How’d you know we were here?”

He looks at me, eyes meeting mine as the smile slowly fades from his face.

“I mean, it was four in the morning. I didn’t even have a chance to knock and you were already there. Weren’t you asleep?”

And even though a chunk of flashy red metal stands between us, it’s as though he’s right there, gaze sending shivers over my skin when he says, “Ever, I can always sense when you’re near.”

After a long day at school without Damen, the second the final bell rings, I get in my car and head for his house. But instead of making a left at the light, I pull an illegal U-turn. Telling myself I should allow him some space, give him a chance to bond with the twins—when the truth is, between their hero worship of Damen and Rayne’s glaring animosity toward me—well, I’m just not ready to face them again.

I head toward downtown Laguna, figuring I’ll stop by Mystics and Moonbeams, the metaphysical bookstore where Ava once worked. Thinking maybe Lina, the store’s owner, can help me find a solution to my more mystical problems without my divulging just what it is that I’m after. Which, considering how suspicious she is, should prove to be quite a feat.

After manifesting the best parking space I can, which in overcrowded Laguna happens to be two blocks away, I stuff the meter full of quarters and make my way toward the door, only to be met by a big red sign reading: BE BACK IN TEN!

I stand before it, lips pressed together as I glance all around, making sure no one is watching as I mentally flip the sign over while making the dead bolt retreat. Silencing the bell on the door as I slip inside and head for the bookshelves, relishing the chance to browse on my own, free of Lina’s scrutiny.

The tips of my fingers graze the long row of spines, waiting for some kind of signal, a sudden warming, an itch at the tips, something to alert me to just the right one. But not getting anything, I grab one near the end and close my eyes, pressing my palms to the front and back covers, eager to
see
what’s inside.

“
How’d you get in here
?”

I jump, bumping into the shelf just behind me, knocking a pile of CDs to the floor.

Cringing at the mess at my feet, scattered jewel cases everywhere, some of them cracked, as I say, “You scared me—I—”

I drop to my knees, heart racing, face flushing, wondering not just
who
he is but
how
he could’ve possibly managed to sneak up on me when it should be impossible to do so. A mortal’s energy always announces itself long before their actual presence does. So is it possible that he—
isn’t
mortal?

I sneak a quick peek as he kneels down beside me, taking in his tanned skin, defined arms, and heavy clump of golden brown dreadlocks spilling over his shoulder and halfway down his back. Watching as he gathers the damaged jewel cases into his hands, searching for some kind of sign that’ll out him as an immortal, maybe even a rogue. A face that’s too perfect—an Ouroboros tattoo—but when he catches me looking, he smiles in a way that not only displays the most disarming set of dimples perfectly punctuating each cheek, but a set of teeth that are just crooked enough to prove he’s nothing like me.

“You okay?” he asks, gazing at me with eyes so green I can barely remember my name.

I nod, standing awkwardly and rubbing my palms on my jeans, wondering why I’m so breathless, unnerved, forcing the words from my lips when I say, “Yeah. I’m—fine.” Inadvertently tacking a nervous laugh onto the end that’s so high pitched and foolish I cringe and turn away. “I, um—I was just, browsing the merchandise,” I add, realizing just after I’ve said it that I probably have more right to be here than he does.

Glancing over my shoulder to find him gazing at me in a way I can’t read, I take a deep breath and pull my shoulders back. “I think the real question is, how’d
you
get in here?” Taking in his sandy bare feet and wet board shorts hanging dangerously low on his hips, averting my gaze before I can see anything more.

“I own the place.” He nods, stacking the fallen CDs, the ones that aren’t cracked, back onto the shelf before turning to me.

“Really?” I turn, eyes narrowed when I add. “Cuz I happen to know the owner, and you don’t look a thing like her.”

He cocks his head to the side, squinting in faux contemplation and rubbing his chin as he says, “Really? Most people claim to see a resemblance. Though, I have to admit, I’m with you, never seen it myself.”

“You’re related to Lina?” I gape, hoping my voice didn’t sound as panicked to his ears as it did mine.

“She’s my grandmother.” He nods. “Name’s Jude, by the way.”

He offers his hand, long, tanned, fingers extended, waiting for mine. But even though my curiosity’s piqued, I can’t do it. Despite my interest, despite my wondering why he makes me feel so—flustered and off balance—I can’t risk the barrage of knowledge a single touch brings when my psyche’s disturbed.

I nod, responding with this stupid, embarrassing sort of half wave, as I mumble my name. Trying not to wince when he gives me an odd look and lowers his hand again.

“So, now that that’s covered—” He slings his damp towel over his shoulder, sending a spray of sand through the room. “I’m back to my original question,
what are you doing in here
?”

I turn, feigning sudden interest in a book on dream interpretation when I say, “I’m sticking with my original answer, which was
browsing
, in case you’ve forgotten. Surely you allow browsers in here?” I turn, meeting his gaze—those amazing sea green eyes reminding me of an ad for a tropical getaway. Something about them so—indefinable—startling—and yet—strangely familiar—though I’m sure I’ve never seen him before.

He laughs, pushing a tangle of golden dreads off his face and exposing a scar splicing right through his brow, gaze landing just to my right as he says, “And yet, after all the summers I’ve spent here, watching customers
browse
the merchandise, I’ve never once seen someone browse quite like you.”

His lips pull at the sides, as his eyes study mine. Then I turn, cheeks heating, heart racing, taking a moment to compose myself before turning back to say, “You’ve never seen someone browse the back cover? That’s a little odd, don’t you think?”

“Not with their eyes closed.” He tilts his head to the side and focuses on the space to my right once again.

I swallow hard, flustered, shaky, knowing I need to change the subject before I sink any deeper. “Maybe you should be more concerned with
how
I got in here instead of what I’m
doing
in here,” I say, wishing I could take it back the second it’s out.

He looks at me, gaze narrowed. “Figured I left the door open again. Are you saying I didn’t?”

“
No!
” I shake my head, hoping he doesn’t notice the way my cheeks color and heat. “No, that’s—that’s exactly what I’m saying. You
did
leave the door open,” I add, trying not to fidget, blink, press my lips together, or otherwise give myself away. “
Wide open
in fact, which is not only a waste of air-conditioning but totally—” I stop, my stomach going weird when I see the smile at play on his lips.

“So, a friend of Lina’s, huh?” He moves toward the register, dropping his towel on the counter in a wet, sandy
thud.
“Never heard her mention you before.”

“Well, we weren’t exactly
friends.
” I shrug, hoping it didn’t look as awkward as it felt. “I mean, I met her once and she helped me with—wait, why did you just phrase it like that? You know, all past tense. Is Lina
okay
?”

He nods, perching on a stool, grabbing a purple cardboard box from a drawer and flipping through a bunch of receipts. “She’s on one of her annual retreats. Picks a different one each year. This time it’s Mexico. Trying to determine if the Mayans were right and the world will end in 2012. What’s your take?”

He looks at me, green eyes curious, insistent, boring right into mine. But I just scratch my arm and shrug, never having heard that particular theory before and wondering if it applies to Damen and me. Is that when we’ll head for the Shadowland, or will we be forced to wander a barren Earth—the last two survivors responsible for repopulating the land—only—
irony alert
—if we touch, Damen dies—

I shake my head, eager to escape that particular thread before it can really take hold and mess with my head. Besides, I’m here for a reason and I need to stick with the plan.

“So how do you know her? If you weren’t exactly
friends
.”

“I met her through Ava,” I say, hating the feel of her name on my lips.

He rolls his eyes, mumbling something unintelligible and shaking his head.

“So you know her?” I look at him, allowing my gaze to travel his face, his neck, his shoulders, his smooth tanned chest, making my way down to his navel, before forcing myself to look away again.

“Yeah, I know her.” He pushes the box aside, gaze meeting mine. “Just up and disappeared the other day—into thin air from what I can tell—”

Oh, you don’t know the half of it
, I think, carefully watching his face.

“—called her house, her cell, but nothing. Finally did a drive-by to make sure she was okay and the lights were on so it’s clear she’s been dodging me.” He shakes his head. “Left me with a bunch of angry clients, demanding a reading. Who would’ve thought she’d turn out to be such a flake?”

Yes, who would’ve thought? Certainly not the person who was foolish enough to place her deepest darkest secrets right into her greedy, outstretched, hands
...

“Still haven’t found anyone good enough to replace her though. And let me tell ya, it’s pretty much impossible to give readings and take care of the store. That’s why I stepped out just now.” He shrugs. “Surf was calling and I needed a break. Guess I left the door open again.”

His eyes meet mine, sparkling and deep. And I can’t tell if he truly believes he left the door open, or if he suspects me. But when I try to peer into his head to see for myself I’m stopped by the wall he’s erected to safeguard his thoughts from people like me. All I have to go by is the brilliant purple aura I failed to see before—its color waving and shimmering, beckoning to me.

“So far all I got are a stack of applications from amateurs. But I’m so desperate to get my weekends back, I’m ready to toss their names in a bowl and pick one just to get it over with.” He shakes his head and flashes those dimples again.

And even though part of me can’t believe what I’m about to do, the other part, the more practical part, urges me on, recognizing the perfect opportunity when it’s standing before me.

“Maybe I can help.” I hold my breath as I wait for his reply. But when my only response is a set of narrowed lids accompanied by the slightest curling of lips, I add, “Seriously. You don’t even have to pay me!”

He squints even further, those amazing green eyes practically disappearing from sight.

“What I meant was you don’t have to pay me all that
much
,” I say, not wanting to come off as some weird desperate freak who gives it away for free. “I’ll work for just over minimum wage—but only because I’m so good I’ll be living off the tips.”

“You’re psychic?” He folds his arms and tilts his head back, gazing at me with complete disbelief.

I straighten my posture and try not to fidget. Hoping to appear professional, mature, someone he can trust to help run his store. “Yup.” I nod, unable to keep from wincing, unused to confiding my abilities to anyone, much less a stranger. “I just sort of
know
things—information just sort of
comes
to me—it’s hard to explain.”

He looks at me, wavering, then focusing just to my right as he says, “So what exactly
are
you then?”

I shrug, fingers playing with the zipper on my hoodie, drawing it up and down, down and up, having no idea what he means.

“Are you clairaudient, clairvoyant, clairsentient, clairgustance, clairscent, or clairtangency? Which is it?” He shrugs.

“All of the above.” I nod, having no idea what half those things mean, but figuring if it’s got anything even remotely to do with psychic abilities, then I can probably do it.

“But you’re not mediumistic,” he says, as though it’s a fact.

“I can see spirits.” I shrug. “But only the ones that are still here, not the ones who’ve crossed—” I stop, pretending to clear my throat, knowing it’s better not to mention the bridge, Summerland, or any of that. “—I can’t see the ones who’ve crossed
over
.” I shrug, hoping he doesn’t try to push it since that’s as far as I’ll go.

He squints, gaze roaming from the top of my pale blond head and all the way down to my Nike clad feet. A gaze that makes my whole body quiver. Reaching for a long-sleeved tee stashed under the counter and yanking it over his head before he looks at me and says, “Well, Ever, if you wanna work here, you’re gonna have to pass the audition.”