Dark Flame (The Immortals #4)(44)

A full roster of Riley’s usual obsessions, the last of which I’m sure she never got a chance to experiment with.

And just as I’m about to leave, sure there’s nothing more to see, I spot a beautiful, round jeweled frame, perched up high on the armoire, and I rise up on my toes to get it. Knowing it can’t belong to Romy and Rayne since photography wasn’t even invented until long after they left Salem, and gasping audibly when I take it all in, my eyes sweeping over a picture of us.

Me, Riley, and our sweet yellow Lab, Buttercup.

The mere sight of it eliciting a memory so clear, so palpable, it slams like a punch in the gut. Forcing me down to my knees and onto the floor, paying little notice of the rough wood scratching my skin, paying no mind to the tears that stream down my cheeks and onto the glass, leaving it streaky, blurry, but I’m no longer looking at the picture, I’m watching the event in my head. Replaying the moment when Riley and I leaned all over each other, smiling and laughing, and hamming it up as Buttercup barked excitedly and ran circles around us.

All of it just moments before the accident.

The very last photo ever taken of us.

A photo I’d forgotten about since Riley died long before she ever got a chance to download it.

I gaze around the room, my vision blurred by tears, my voice tentative, squeaky, as I call, “Riley? Riley—are you—watching this?” Wondering if she’s here, if she set this whole thing up, if she’s off in a corner somewhere, observing me.

Using the hem of my sweater to wipe first my face, then the glass, knowing that even though she fails to respond, even though I can no longer access her, this is her doing. She recreated this picture. Wanted me to have yet another reminder of what we once shared and who I once was, just one year before.

And even though I’m tempted to try to take it back to Laguna, I leave it right where I found it instead. It’s a Summerland thing. It’ll never survive the return trip home. Besides, for some strange reason, I like knowing it’s here.

I make my way down the ladder and back through the great room, sure I’ve seen all I was meant to and preparing to leave. Almost at the front door when I notice a painting I missed on my way in. Its frame simple, black, crudely crafted from a few strips of painted wood. But it’s the subject that grabs my interest, a finely honed portrait of an attractive yet somewhat plain woman—or at least by today’s standards anyway. Her skin is pale, her lips are thin, and her dark brown hair is scraped severely off her face, pulled back into what was probably a tightly coiled bun. But no matter how serious the pose, no matter how stern the expression, there’s something much lighter shining in her eyes, as though she’s merely playing the part of a proper, subdued woman of her time, posing this way for propriety’s sake, while inside lurked a fire few people would’ve guessed at.

And the longer I stare into those eyes—the more sure I am. Even though I try to talk myself out of it, convince myself it’s not possible, not in the most remote way—that subliminal hint that’s been edging at me, persisting off and on for the last several weeks, has now manifested before me, in a way so clear, so startling, it can’t be ignored.

My whispered gasp, echoing through the room but heard only by me, as I flee out the door and back to the earth plane.

Eager to get away from the face looming before me—away from a past that has just, remarkably, come full circle again.





nineteen


I don’t even think about it. Don’t even stop to think twice. I just make the portal, land back in the earth plane, and head for Damen’s.

But then, just as I’m pulling up to his gate, I think better.

The twins will be there.

The twins are always there.

And this is definitely something that shouldn’t be discussed in their presence.

But since the gates are already in motion and Sheila is happily waving me in, I drive right through and head for the park instead. Parking my car at the curb and heading straight for the swings, I settle onto the small bucket seat and propel myself forward with such force, I actually wonder if I’ll loop all the way around before coming back down. But I don’t, I just sway back and forth, enjoying the rush of wind on my cheeks as I fly ever higher, and the slight dip in my belly when I come crashing back down. Closing my eyes and calling Damen to me—using whatever powers I still have before the monster can awaken and begin its favorite pastime of sabotaging me. Adding up the seconds, and not even getting to ten before he’s standing before me.

The air has changed, ignited by his presence, his gaze sending a delicious warm tingle over my skin. And when I open my eyes to meet his—it’s like the first time we met in the parking lot at school—mesmerizing, magical, a moment of complete and total surrender. The sun at his back, enveloping him in a blaze of bold orange, golds, and reds so brilliant, it’s as though they’re emanating from him. And I hold on to the moment, hold it for as long as I can. All too aware that it’s just a matter of time before it dulls and I become numb to him again.

He takes the swing alongside me, gliding high into the sky and instantly matching my pace. The two of us swooping to such deliriously, wonderful heights, only to plummet right back down again—an analogy of our relationship for the last four hundred years.

But when he gazes at me with an expectant look on his face, I know I’m about to disappoint him. I’m not here for the reason he thinks.