Shadowland (The Immortals #3)(49)
“Are you saying you’re bored?” He looks at me, eyes wide, aghast.
I lift my shoulders and scrunch my face, wishing I could pretend otherwise, but also not wanting to lie. “A little.” I nod. “I mean, I’m sorry to say it, but this whole cuddling on the couch while the kids sleep upstairs—” I shake my head. “It’s one thing when you’re babysitting, but it’s a little creepy when the kids are essentially yours. I mean, I know we’re still adjusting and all—but—well—I guess what I’m trying to say is, it’s starting to feel like a rut.” I peer at him, lips pressed tightly together, unsure how he’ll take that.
“You know how to get out of a rut, don’t you?” He jumps to his feet so swiftly he’s a shiny, dark blur.
I shake my head, recognizing that look in his eye from when we first met. Back when things were fun, exciting, unpredictable in every way.
“The only escape is to break free.” He laughs, grasping my hand and leading me away.
twenty-three
I follow him through the kitchen and out to the garage, wondering where he could possibly be taking me since a nice trip to Summerland can be had from the couch.
“What about the twins?” I whisper. “What if they wake and find we’re not here?”
Damen shrugs, leading me to his car and glancing over his shoulder as he says, “No worries, they’re sleeping soundly. Besides, I have a feeling they’ll stay that way for a while.”
“And did you have anything to do with that?” I ask, remembering the time he put the entire student body to sleep—including the administrators and teachers—and I’m still not sure how he did it.
He laughs and opens my door, motioning for me to get in. But I shake my head and stand my ground. No way am I riding in the mom mobile—the very embodiment of the rut that we’re in.
He looks at me for a moment, then shakes his head and closes his eyes, brows merging together as he manifests a shiny red Lamborghini instead. Just like the one I drove the other day.
But I shake my head again, having no need for a new brand of fun when the old one will do. So I close my eyes and wish it away, replacing it with an exact replica of the shiny black BMW he used to drive.
“Point taken.” He nods, waving me in with a mischievous grin.
And the next thing I know we’re racing down the drive and onto the street, slowing just enough for the gate to open, before taking Coast Highway in a blur of speed.
I gaze at him, trying to peer into his mind and see just where we’re going, but he just laughs, purposely erecting his psychic shield, determined to surprise me.
He hops on the freeway and cranks up the stereo, laughing in surprise when the Beatles come on. “The White Album?” He glances at me as he navigates the road at near-record speeds.
“Whatever it takes to get you back in this car.” I smile, having listened to the story (many times) of his time spent in India learning transcendental meditation right alongside them, back when John and Paul wrote most of these songs. “In fact, if I’ve manifested it correctly, then that stereo will play nothing but the Beatles from now on.”
“How am I ever going to adapt to the twenty-first century if you’re determined to keep me rooted in the past?” He laughs.
“I was kind of hoping you wouldn’t adapt,” I mumble, gazing out the window at a blur of darkness and light. “Change is overrated—or at least your more recent changes are. So what do you say? Is she a keeper? Can we banish the big ugly mommy mobile?”
I turn toward him, watching as he exits the freeway and makes a series of sharp turns before climbing a very steep hill and stopping before a sculpture in front of a huge limestone building.
“What’s this?” I squint, knowing we’re somewhere in L.A. from the look and feel of the town, but not exactly sure where.
“The Getty.” He smiles, setting the brake and jumping out to open my door. “Have you been?”
I shake my head and avoid his gaze. An art museum is about the last place I expected—or even wanted—to go.
“But—isn’t it closed?” I glance around, sensing we’re the only ones here, other than the armed guards who are probably stationed inside.
“Closed?” He looks at me and shakes his head. “You think I’m going to let something as mundane as that stop us?” He slips his arm around me and leads me up the stone steps, lips at my ear when he adds, “I know a museum’s not your first choice, but trust me, I’m about to prove a very good point. One that, from what you just said, clearly needs illustrating.”
“What? That you know more about art than I do?”
He stops, his face serious when he says, “I’m going to prove that the world really is our oyster. Our playground. Whatever we want it to be. There’s no need to ever feel bored or to get into a rut once you understand that the normal rules no longer apply—at least not for us. We can do anything we want, Ever, anything at all. Open, closed, locked, unlocked, welcome, unwelcome—none of it matters, we do what we want—when we want. There’s nothing or no one who can stop us.”
Not entirely true, I think, ruminating on the very thing we’ve never been able to do in the past four hundred years, which, of course, is the one thing I really want us to do.