Shadowland (The Immortals #3)
Alyson Noel
In memory of Blake Snyder, 1957–2009:
An inspiring teacher, whose generosity, enthusiasm,
and genuine passion for helping others is unsurpassed.
May his spirit live on in his books and his teachings.
acknowledgments
It takes a whole team of people to make a book happen, and I’m incredibly lucky to work with such a great one!
Big, huge, sparkly thanks go to:
Bill Contardi—the perfect blend of brains, heart, and sly sense of humor—the best dang agent an author could ask for!
Matthew Shear and Rose Hilliard—publisher and editor extra-ordinaire—I couldn’t have done it without them!
Anne Marie Tallberg and Brittany Kleinfelter—the brilliant brains behind the immortalsseries.com Web site—thanks for your creative ideas and much-needed tech support!
Katy Hershberger, who not only has great taste in music but happens to be a great publicist too!
The amazingly talented people in the art department, Angela Goddard and Jeanette Levy, who design the most beautiful, drool-worthy covers! Along with everyone else in sales and marketing and production and any other department I’m sure I’m forgetting—thank you for all that you do—you guys rock!
Also, hugs and love to Sandy for being a constant source of inspiration, laughter, and fun—my very own Damen Auguste!
And I’d be completely remiss not to mention you, the reader—your messages, e-mails, letters, and artwork never fail to make my day. Thanks for being so incredibly awesome!
shadowland
Fate is nothing but the deeds committed
in a prior state of existence.
—Ralph Waldo Emerson
one
“Everything is energy.”
Damen’s dark eyes focus on mine, urging me to listen, really listen this time. “Everything around us—” His arm sweeps before him, tracing a fading horizon that’ll soon fade to black. “Everything in this seemingly solid universe of ours isn’t solid at all—it’s energy—pure vibrating energy. And while our perception may convince us that things are either solid or liquid or gaseous—on the quantum level it’s all just particles within particles—it’s all just energy.”
I press my lips together and nod, his voice overpowered by the one in my head urging: Tell him! Tell him now! Quit stalling, and just get it over with! Hurry, before he starts talking again!
But I don’t. I don’t say a word. I just wait for him to continue so I can delay even further.
“Raise your hand.” He nods, palm out, moving toward mine. Lifting my arm slowly, cautiously, determined to avoid any and all physical contact when he says, “Now tell me, what do you see?”
I squint, unsure what he’s after, then shrugging I say, “Well, I see pale skin, long fingers, a freckle or two, nails in serious need of a manicure . . .”
“Exactly.” He smiles, as though I just passed the world’s easiest test. “But if you could see it as it really is, you wouldn’t see that at all. Instead you’d see a swarm of molecules containing protons, neutrons, electrons, and quarks. And within those tiny quarks, down to the most minuscule point, you’d see nothing but pure vibrating energy moving at a speed slow enough that it appears solid and dense, and yet quickly enough that it can’t be observed for what it truly is.”
I narrow my eyes, not sure I believe it. Never mind the fact that he’s been studying this stuff for hundreds of years.
“Seriously, Ever. Nothing is separate.” He leans toward me, fully warmed up to his subject now. “Everything is one. Items that appear dense, like you and I, and this sand that we’re sitting on, are really just a mass of energy vibrating slowly enough to seem solid, while things like ghosts and spirits vibrate so quickly they’re nearly impossible for most humans to see.”
“I see Riley,” I say, eager to remind him of all the time I used to spend with my ghostly sister. “Or at least I used to, you know, before she crossed the bridge and moved on.”
“And that’s exactly why you can’t see her anymore.” He nods. “Her vibration is moving too fast. Though there are those who can see past all of that.”
I gaze at the ocean before us, the swells rolling in, one after another. Endless, unceasing, immortal—like us.
“Now raise your hand again and bring it so close to mine we just nearly touch.”
I hesitate, filling my palm with sand, unwilling to do it. Unlike him, I know the price, the dire consequences the slightest skin-on-skin contact can bring. Which is why I’ve been avoiding his touch since last Friday. But when I peer at him again, his palm out, waiting for mine, I take a deep breath and lift my hand too—gasping when he draws so close the space that divides is razor thin.
“Feel that?” He smiles. “That tingle and heat? That’s our energy connecting.” He moves his hand back and forth, manipulating the push and pull of the energy force field between us.
“But if we’re all connected like you say, then why doesn’t it all feel the same?” I whisper, drawn by the undeniable magnetic stream that links us, causing the most wonderful warmth to course through my body.