Shadowland: The Immortals Read online

  He rolls onto his back and stares at the ceiling. Turning his face toward mine as he says, “About that.”

  I hold my breath and look at him, my stomach dipping ever so slightly.

  “I’ve been thinking—” He squints. “Who’s to say Summerland is where they belong?”

  I balk, an argument pressing forth from my lips until he raises his finger and stops it right there.

  “Ever, the question as to whether or not they return, well, don’t you think that’s something they should decide? I’m not sure we’re the ones who should be making those choices.”

  “But we’re not choosing,” I say, voice shrill, unsteady. “That’s what they want! Or at least that’s what they said the night I found them. They were furious with me, blaming me for the loss of their magick, for stranding them here—or at least Rayne was; Romy—well, Romy was just Romy.” I shrug. “But still. Are you saying that’s changed?”

  He closes his eyes for a moment, before leveling his gaze back on mine. “I’m not sure they even know what they want at this point,” he says. “They’re a little overwhelmed, excited by the possibilities of being here, and yet too terrified to even step outside. I just think we should give them some time and space and keep our minds open to the possibility of them staying a little bit longer than planned. Or at least until they’re fully adjusted, and better able to decide for themselves. Besides, I owe them, it’s the least I can do. Don’t forget they helped me find you.”

  I swallow hard and avert my gaze, torn between wanting what’s best for the twins while worried about the impact it’ll have on Damen and me. I mean, they’ve been here less than a day and I’m already mourning my access to him, which is a totally selfish way to view two people in need. Still, I don’t think you have to be psychic to know that with the two of them around, requiring all kinds of assistance, times like this—when it’s just Damen and me—will be severely limited.

  “Is that the first time you met? In Summerland?” I ask, seeming to remember Rayne saying something about Damen helping them, not the other way around.

  Damen shakes his head, eyes on mine when he says, “No, that was just the first time I’d seen them in a long time. We actually go way back—all the way back to Salem.”

  I look at him, jaw dropped, wondering if he was there during the trials, though he’s quick to dispel that.

  “It was just before the trouble started, and I was only passing through. They’d gotten into some mischief and couldn’t find their way home—so I gave them a ride in my carriage and their aunt was never the wiser.” He laughs.

  And I’m just about to make some crappy little comment, something about him spoiling and enabling them from the very start, when he says, “They’ve suffered an extraordinarily hard life—losing everything they’ve ever known and loved at a very young age—surely you can relate to that? I know I can.”

  I sigh, feeling small and selfish and embarrassed that I even needed to be reminded of that. Determined to stick to the practical when I say, “But who’s going to raise them?” Hoping it will seem like my concerns are far less about me and more about them. I mean, with all of their unmitigated weirdness, not to mention their totally bizarre history, where would they go? Who could possibly look after them?

  “We’re going to look after them.” Damen rolls onto his side and makes me face him again. “You and I. Together. We’re the only ones who can.”

  I sigh, wanting to turn away, but drawn to the warmth of his all-encompassing gaze. “I’m just not sure we’re fit to be parents.” I shrug, hand moving over his shoulder, getting lost in his tangle of hair. “Or role models, or guardians, or whatever. We’re too young!” I add, thinking it’s a good and valid point, and expecting just about any reaction but the laughter I get.

  “Too young?” He shakes his head. “Speak for yourself! I have been around for a while, you know. Plenty long enough to qualify as a suitable guardian for the twins. Besides.” He smiles. “How hard can it be?”

  I close my eyes and shake my head, remembering my feeble attempts to guide Riley both in human and ghost form, and how I failed miserably. And to be honest, I’m just not sure I’m up for it again. “You have no idea what you’re getting into,” I tell him. “You can’t even begin to imagine what it’s like to guide two headstrong, thirteen-year-old girls. It’s like herding cats—completely impossible.”

  “Ever,” he says, voice low, coaxing, determined to ease my concerns and chase all the dark clouds away. “I know what’s really bothering you, believe me, I do. But it’s just five more years until they turn eighteen and head off on their own, and then we’ll have the freedom to do whatever we want. What’s five years when we have all of eternity?”

  But I shake my head again, refusing to be swayed. “If they head off on their own,” I say. “If. Believe me, there are plenty of kids who stick around the house long after that.”

  “Yes, but the difference is, you and I won’t let them.” He smiles, eyes practically begging me to lighten up and smile too. “We’ll teach them all the magick they’ll need to gain their inde pen dence and get by on their own. Then we’ll send ’em off and wish ’em well and go somewhere on our own.”

  And the way he smiles, the way he gazes into my eyes and smooths my hair off my face makes it impossible to stay mad, impossible to waste any more time on a topic like this when my body’s so close to his.

  “Five years is nothing, when you’ve already lived for six hundred,” he says, lips at my cheek, my neck, my ear.

  I snuggle closer, knowing he’s right, despite the fact that my perspective’s a little different from his. Having never spent more than two decades in any one incarnation makes five years spent babysitting the twins seem like an eternity.

  He pulls me to him, arms locked tightly around me, comforting me in a way I wish could last forever. “Are we good?” he whispers. “Are we finished with this?”

  I nod, pressing my body hard against his, having no need for words. The only thing I want now, the only thing that’ll make me feel better is the reassuring feel of his lips.

  I shift my body so it’s covering his, conforming to the bend of his chest, the valley of his torso, the bulk near his hips. Hearts beating in perfect cadence, vaguely aware of the slim veil of energy pulsating between us as I lower my mouth to his—pressing and pushing and kneading together—weeks of longing rising to the surface—until all I want to do is infuse my body with his.

  He moans, a low primal sound coming from deep within, hands clutched at my waist, bringing me closer ’til there’s nothing between us but two sets of clothes that need to be shed.

  I fumble at his fly as he pulls at my tee, breath meeting in short, ragged gasps as our fingers hurry as fast as they can, unable to complete their tasks quickly enough to satisfy our need.

  And just as I’ve unbuttoned his jeans and start to slide them down, I realize we’ve gotten so close, the energy veil was pushed out.

  “Damen!” I gasp, watching as he leaps from the bed, breath coming so heavy and fast, his words are clipped at the end.

  “Ever—I’m—” He shakes his head. “I’m sorry—I thought it was safe—I didn’t realize—”

  I reach for my tee and cover myself, cheeks flushed, insides aflame, knowing he’s right, we can’t take the risk—can’t afford to get caught up like that.

  “I’m sorry too—I think—I think maybe I pushed it away and—” I bow my head, allowing my hair to fall into my face, feeling small and examined, sure I’m to blame.

  The mattress dips as he returns to my side, the veil fully restored as he lifts my chin and makes me face him again. “It’s not your fault—I—I lost focus—I was so caught up in you I couldn’t maintain it.”

  “It’s okay. Really,” I say.

  “No it’s not. I’m older than you—I should have more control—” He shakes his head and stares at the wall, jaw clenched, gaze far away, eyes suddenly narrowing as he turns back to me and says, “Ever—h
ow do we know if this is even real?”

  I squint, having no idea what he means.

  “What kind of proof do we have? How do we know Roman’s not just playing us, having a bit of fun at our expense?”

  I take a deep breath and shrug, realizing I have no proof at all. My eyes meeting his as I replay the scene from that day, all the way to the end where I add my blood to the mix and make Damen drink, realizing the only proof I have is Roman’s extremely unreliable word.

  “Who’s to say this is even legit?” His eyes widen as an idea begins to form. “Roman’s a liar—we’ve no reason to trust him.”

  “Yeah, but—it’s not like we can test it. I mean, what if it’s not a big game, what if it is legit? We can’t take the risk—can we?”

  Damen smiles, rising from the bed and heading for my desk where he closes his eyes and manifests a tall white candle in an elaborate gold holder, a sharp silver dagger, its blade pointy and smooth, its handle encrusted with crystals and gems, and a gold-framed mirror he sets down beside them, motioning for me to join him as he says, “Normally I would say ladies first—but in this case—”

  He holds his hand over the glass and raises the knife, placing the edge to his palm and tracing the curve of his lifeline, watching his blood flow onto the mirror, pooling, coagulating, before closing his eyes and setting the candle aflame. The wound already healed by the time he passes the blade through the blaze, cleansing, purifying, before handing it to me and urging me to do the same.

  I lean toward him, inhaling deeply as I quickly slice through my flesh. At first wincing at the sharp stab of pain, then watching fascinated, as the blood pours from my palm and onto the mirror where it slowly creeps toward his.

  We stand together, bodies still, breath halted, watching as two ruby red splotches meet, mingle, coalesce—the perfect embodiment of our genetic makeup joining as one—the very thing Roman warned us against.

  Waiting for something to happen, some sort of catastrophic punishment for what we’ve both done—but getting nothing—no reaction at all.

  “Well, I’ll be damned—” Damen says, eyes meeting mine. “It’s fine! Perfectly—”

  His words cut short by the sudden spark and sizzle as our blood begins to boil, conducting so much heat a huge plume of smoke bursts from the mirror and fills up the air—crackling and spitting until the blood evaporates completely. Leaving behind only the sheerest layer of dust on a burnt-out mirror.

  Exactly what’ll happen to Damen if our DNA should meet.

  We gape, speechless, unsure what to say. But words are no longer necessary, the meaning is clear.

  Roman’s not playing. His warning was real.

  Damen and I can never be together.

  Unless I pay his price.

  “Well.” Damen nods, struggling to appear calm though his face is clearly stricken. “Guess Roman’s not nearly the liar I accused him of being—at least not in this case.”

  “Which also means he has the antidote—and all I have to do now is—”

  But I can’t even finish before Damen’s cutting me off. “Ever, please, don’t even go there. Just do me a favor and stay away from Roman. He’s dangerous, and unstable, and I don’t want you anywhere near him, okay? Just—” He shakes his head, and runs his hand through his hair, not wanting me to see how distraught he really is and heading for the door as he says, “Just give me some time to figure things out. I’ll think of a way.”

  He looks at me, so shaken by the events he’s determined to keep his distance. Manifesting a single red tulip into my newly healed palm in place of a kiss, before heading down the stairs and out my front door.

  seventeen

  The next day, when I get home from school, Haven’s on my front steps, eyes smeared with mascara, royal blue bangs hanging limp in her face, with a blanketed bundle clutched tight in her arms.

  “I know I should’ve called.” She scrambles to her feet, face red and swollen as she sniffs back the tears. “I guess I didn’t really know what to do, so I came here.” She rearranges the blanket, showing me a solid black cat with amazing green eyes that appears very weak.

  “Is he yours?” I glance between them, noticing how both of their auras are ragged and frayed.

  “She.” Haven nods, fussing with the blanket and raising it back to her chest.

  “I didn’t know you had a cat.” I squint, wanting to help but unsure what to do. My dad was allergic, so we always had dogs. “Is this why you weren’t at school today?”

  She nods, following me into the kitchen where I grab a bottle of water and pour it into a bowl.

  “How long have you had her?” I ask, watching as she places the cat in her lap and brings the bowl to her face. But the cat’s not the least bit interested and quickly turns away.

  “Few months.” She shrugs, giving up on the water and smoothing the top of her head. “Nobody knows. Well, outside of Josh, Austin, and the maid who’s sworn to secrecy, but nobody else. My mom would flip. God forbid a real living thing mess up her designer decorating scheme.” She shakes her head. “She lives in my room, mostly under the bed. But I leave the window cracked so she can get out and wander around now and then. I mean, I know they’re supposed to live longer if you keep ’em inside, but what kind of life is that?” She looks at me, her normally bright sunshiny aura turned gray with worry.

  “What’s her name?” I peer at the cat, keeping my voice to a whisper, trying to hide my concern. From what I can see, she’s not long for this world.

  “Charm.” The corners of her lips lifting ever so slightly as she glances between us. “I named her that because she’s lucky—or at least it seemed that way at the time. I found her just outside my window the first time Josh and I kissed. It seemed so romantic.” She shrugs. “Like a good sign. But now—” She shakes her head, and looks away.

  “Maybe I can help,” I say, an idea beginning to form. One I’m not sure will work, but still, from what I can see I’ve got nothing to lose.

  “She’s not exactly a kitten. She’s an old lady now. The vet told me to keep her comfortable for as long as I can. And I totally would’ve kept her home since she really likes it under my bed, but my mom’s decided to redo all the bedrooms even though my dad’s threatening to sell, and now the decorator is there, along with a Realtor, and everyone’s fighting and the house is a mess. And since Josh is auditioning for this new band, and since Miles is getting ready for his performance tonight, I thought I’d come here.” She looks at me. “Not that you were last choice or anything.” She cringes, realizing what she just said. “It’s just that you’re always so busy with Damen and I didn’t want to bother you. But if you’re busy, I don’t have to stay. I mean, if he’s coming over or something, I can just—”

  “Trust me.” I lean against the counter and shake my head. “Damen’s—” I stare at the wall, wondering just how to phrase it. “Damen’s pretty busy these days. So I doubt he’ll be dropping by anytime soon.”

  I glance between her and Charm, reading her aura and knowing she’s even more distraught than she seems. And even though I know it’s not right, ethical, or whatever, even though I know it’s the circle of life and you’re not supposed to interfere, I can’t stand to see my friend suffer like this, not when I have a half bottle of elixir sitting inside my bag.

  “I’m just—sad.” She sighs, scratching just under Charm’s chin. “I mean, obviously she’s lived a good long life and all, but still. Why does it have to be so sad when it ends?”

  I shrug, barely listening, mind buzzing with the promise of a new idea.

  “It’s so weird how like one minute everything’s fine—or maybe even not so fine—but still, you’re at least here. And then the next—gone. Like Evangeline. Never to be seen or heard from again.”

  I drum my fingers against the granite counter, knowing that’s not exactly true, but unwilling to refute it.

  “I guess I just don’t get the point. It’s like, why should you bother getting attached to a
nything if, A: It’s never gonna last, and B: It hurts like hell when it’s over?” She shakes her head. “Because if everything’s finite, if everything has a definite beginning, middle, and end, then why even get started in the first place? What’s the point when everything just leads to The End?”

  She blows her bangs out of her eyes and looks at me. “And I don’t mean death like—” She nods toward her cat. “Although that’s where we all end up—no matter how hard we fight.”

  I glance between her and Charm, nodding as though I’m right there. Like I’m just like everyone else. Waiting my turn in a long morbid line.

  “I mean death in a more metaphorical way. In a nothing lasts forever way, you know? Because it’s true, nothing’s built to last. Nothing. No. Thing.”

  “But Haven—” I start, stopping the second she shoots me a look meant to silence.

  “Listen, before you try to sell me all that bright side nonsense you’re just dying to spout, name one thing that doesn’t end.” She narrows her gaze in a way that sets me on edge, making me wonder if she knows about me, if she’s trying to bait me somehow. But when I take a deep breath and look at her again, it’s clear she’s battling her own set of demons, not me.

  “Can’t do it, right?” She shakes her head. “Unless you were going to say God, or universal love, or whatever, but that’s not what I’m talking about, anyway. I mean, Charm is dying, my parents are on the verge of divorcing, and, let’s face it, Josh and I are going to end eventually too. And if it’s purely an inevitable fact, then—” She shakes her head and wipes her nose. “Well—I may as well take control of the situation and be the one who decides when. Hurt him, before he can hurt me. Because two things are for sure, A: It’s going to end, and B: Someone’s bound to get hurt. And why should that someone be me?” She looks away, nose runny, lips twisted. “Mark my words, from this point on, I’m Teflon Girl. Everything runs right off me, nothing can stick.”