Shadowland (The Immortals #3)(32)

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.”





fifteen


Jude locks the front door then leads me down a short hall and into a small room on the right. I follow behind, hands flexed by my sides, staring at the peace sign on the back of his tee and reminding myself that if he does anything creepy I can take him down quickly and make him regret the day he ever went after me.

He motions toward a padded foldable chair facing a small square table covered by shiny blue cloth, taking the seat just opposite me and propping his bare foot on his knee as he says, “So, what’s your specialty?”

I gaze at him, hands folded, focusing on taking slow deep breaths while trying not to squirm.

“Tarot cards? Runes? I Ching? Psychometry? Which is it?”

I glance at the door, knowing I could reach it in a fraction of a second, which might cause a stir, but so what?

“You are going to give me a reading, right?” His gaze levels on mine. “You do realize that’s what I meant by audition?” He laughs, displaying a matching set of dimples as he swings his dreads over his shoulder and laughs some more.

I stare at the tablecloth, tracing the bumpy raw silk with my fingers, heat rising to my cheeks when I remember Damen’s last words, how he can always sense me, and hoping he was just saying that—that he can’t sense me now.

“I don’t need anything,” I mumble, still unwilling to meet his gaze. “All I need is a quick touch of your hand and I’m good to go.”

“Palmistry.” He nods. “Not what I would’ve expected, but okay.” He leans toward me, hands open, palms up, ready to go.

I swallow hard, seeing the deeply etched lines, but that’s not where the story lives—at least not for me. “I don’t actually read ’em,” I say, voice betraying my nervousness, as I work up the courage to touch him. “It’s more the—the energy—I just—tune into it. That’s where all the info is.”

He pulls back, studying me so closely I can’t meet his eyes. Knowing I need to just touch him, get it over with. And I need to do it now.

“Is it just the hand, or—?” He flexes his fingers, the calluses lining his palms rising and falling again.

I clear my throat, wondering why I’m so nervous, why I feel like I’m betraying Damen, when all I’m trying to do is land a job that’ll make my aunt happy. “No, it can be anywhere. Your ear, your nose, even your big toe—doesn’t matter, it all reads the same. The hand’s just more accessible, you know?”

“More accessible than the big toe?” He smiles, those sea green eyes seeking mine.

I take a deep breath, thinking how coarse and rough his hands appear, especially compared to Damen’s whose are almost softer than mine. And somehow, even just the thought of that makes this whole moment feel off. Now that our touch is forbidden, just being alone with another guy feels sordid, illicit, wrong.

I reach toward him, eyes shut tight, reminding myself it’s just a job interview—that there’s really no reason I can’t land this thing quickly and painlessly. Pressing my finger to the center of his palm and feeling the soft, gentle give of his flesh. Allowing his stream of energy to flow through me—so peaceful, serene, it’s like wading into the calmest of seas. So different from the rush of tingle and heat I’ve grown used to with Damen—at least until the shock of Jude’s life story unfolds.

I yank my hand back as though I’ve been stung, fumbling for the amulet just under my top, noting the alarm on his face as I rush to explain. “I’m sorry.” I shake my head, angry with myself for overreacting. “Normally I wouldn’t do that. Normally I’m way more discreet. I was just a little—surprised—that’s all. I didn’t expect to see anything quite so—” I stop, knowing my inane babbling is only making it worse. “Normally, when I give readings, I hide my reactions much better than that.” I nod, forcing my gaze to meet his, knowing whatever I say won’t hide the fact that I choked like the worst kind of amateur. “Seriously.” I smile, lips stretching in a way that can’t be convincing. “I’m like the ultimate poker face.” Peering at him again and seeing this isn’t quite working. “A poker face that is also full of empathy and compassion,” I stammer, unable to stop this runaway train. “I mean, really—I’m just—full of it—” I cringe, shaking my head as I gather my things so I can call it a day. There’s no way he’ll hire me now.

He slides to the edge of his seat, leaning so close I struggle to breathe. “So tell me,” he says, gaze like a hand on my wrist, holding me in place. “What exactly did you see?”

I swallow hard, closing my eyes for a moment and replaying the movie I just saw in my head. The images so clear, dancing before me, as I say, “You’re different.” I peer at him, his body unmoving, gaze steady, allowing no clues as to whether or not I’m on track.

“But then, you’ve always been different. Ever since you were little you’ve seen them.” I swallow hard and avert my gaze, the image of him in his crib, smiling and waving at the grandmother who passed years before his birth now etched on my brain. “And when—” I pause, not wanting to say it, but knowing that if I want the job, then I’d better get to it. “But when your father—shot himself—back when you were ten—you thought you were to blame. Convinced your insistence on seeing your mother, who, by the way passed just one year before, somehow sent him over the edge. It was years before you accepted the truth, that your father was just lonely, depressed, and anxious to be with your mother again. Even so, sometimes you still doubt it.”