Dark Flame (The Immortals #4)(18)
“No, they’re—um—” I glance at Damen, eyes pleading for help. Having no idea how to explain the fact that while they’re not technically immortal, they have been hanging out in an alternate dimension for the last three hundred years, and now, thanks to me, can’t seem to return.
“They’re family.” Damen nods, shooting me a look that tells me to just play along and follow his lead.
Haven stands in the middle of the room, brow raised, face squinched, obviously not buying a word of it. “So, you’re trying to tell me you’ve kept in touch with your family for—” She narrows her gaze, looking him over, trying to determine just how old he is, then shrugging in defeat when she says, “Anyway, that must make for some very interesting reunions, to say the least.”
I glance at Damen, seeing he’s fully prepared to let that one go, but still hoping to save it, I jump in and say, “What he means is, they’re like family. They’re—”
“Oh, please!” Rayne tosses her book onto the table and glares, at me, at Haven, but not Damen, of course. “We’re not family, and we’re not immortal, okay? We’re witches. Refugees from the Salem Witch Trials. And don’t ask any more questions because we won’t answer them. That’s more than you need to know anyway.”
Haven looks at us, eyes wider than I ever would’ve thought possible, gawping at all four of us freaks as she says, “Jeez. I mean, can this get any weirder?”
I shrug, exchanging a look with Rayne, making it clear she should’ve kept that one under wraps, and watching as Haven settles onto an overstuffed chair, eagerly glancing between us as though anticipating some kind of confidential password reveal, a grand indoctrination, a secret initiation of some sort, and not even trying to hide her disappointment when Damen heads into the kitchen, only to emerge a moment later with a small box full of elixir he promptly hands to her.
She peers into the box, tapping the lid of each bottle with the tip of her black-painted nail, gazing at us in confusion when she says, “That’s it? Seven? Only a one-week supply? I mean, you’re not serious, are you? How am I supposed to survive on just this? You trying to kill me before I even have a chance to get started?”
“Duh, you’re immortal—they can’t kill you.” Rayne shakes her head and rolls her eyes.
“Duh, yes they can. That’s why Ever makes me wear this.” Haven snakes her amulet out from under her black lace top and waves it in front of Rayne’s face.
But Rayne just groans, crossing her skinny, pale arms across her sunken chest when she says, “Please, I know all about that. Take it off, get a punch to the wrong chakra and you’re toast. Leave it on and you live happily ever after and after and after. It’s not rocket science, you know.”
“Jeez, is she always this grouchy?” Haven asks, laughing and shaking her head.
And just as I start to say yes, glad to have an ally for a change if nothing else, I watch as she gets up from her chair and plops down beside Rayne, mussing her hair and tickling her feet in a way that makes them instant best friends. And just like that, I’m back to being the outcast again.
“You don’t need to drink it every day,” Damen says, determined to get this back on track. “In fact, you could last the next hundred and fifty years without so much as a single sip, perhaps even longer, who knows?”
“Well, if that’s the case, then why do you sip it like your life depends on it?” Haven asks, removing Rayne’s feet from her lap as she takes us both in.
Damen shrugs. “I guess because it kind of does at this point. I’ve been around awhile, you know. A long while.”
“How long?” Haven leans forward, pushing her platinum-streaked bangs off her face and gazing at him with two heavily made-up eyes.
“Long. Anyway—the point is—”
“Wait—you’re joking, right? I mean, you’re seriously not gonna tell me your real age? What are you—like one of those thirty-somethings who pile up the twenty-ninth birthdays well into their eighties? I mean, sorry, Damen, but how vain are you?” She laughs and shakes her head. “Trust me, when I’m old, I plan to shout it from the rooftops. I can’t wait ’til I’m a porcelain-skinned one hundred and eighty-two.”
“It’s not vanity, it’s—practicality,” Damen snaps, and when I look at him, I realize he’s flustered, but probably only because it is a little bit vanity, he just doesn’t want to admit it. As much as he’s tried to rid himself of all the fancy clothes, hair-grooming products, and handmade Italian leather boots, a hint of vanity remains. “Besides, you can’t flaunt it, you can’t tell anyone. I thought you and Ever talked about that?”
“We did,” Haven and I both say, our voices blending as one.
“So, there should be no question. You just stick to your normal cupcake-eating routine, keeping your behavior as normal as possible, careful not to draw any—”
“Unnecessary attention to myself.” Haven shakes her head and rolls her eyes in the most exaggerated way. “Trust me, Ever gave me the whole lowdown, warned me of the dark side, the monster under the bed, the one in the closet, not to mention the boogeyman who lives under the stairs, and I hate to break it to you, but I’m not really interested in any of that. I’ve been ordinary my whole entire life. Ignored, overlooked, practically blending into the walls and treated like I was invisible no matter how crazy I tried to act and dress, and I’m telling you, that kind of anonymity is overrated. I’m totally and completely over it. So if now’s my chance to really kick it—to really stand out and be seen for a change—well, I’m not about to hold back. I plan to embrace it with all that I’ve got! So, with that in mind, I’m thinking you can do a little better than this.” She taps the side of the box. “Come on, humor me, hand over the juice so I can give everyone the shock of a lifetime when we start senior year.”