Shadowland (The Immortals #3)(5)
“I’ve known about the possibility for a few weeks but it just became official last night and I still can’t believe it! Eight weeks in Florence, doing nothing but acting, eating, and stalking smoldering hot Italian men . . .”
I glance at him as I back out of his drive. “And Holt’s good with all that?”
Miles looks at me. “Hey, you know the drill. What happens in Italy stays in Italy.”
Except when it doesn’t. My thoughts drifting to Drina and Roman, wondering how many more immortal rogues are still out there, just waiting to show up in Laguna Beach and terrorize me.
“Anyway, I’m leaving soon, just after school gets out. And I have so much to prepare between now and then! Oh, and I almost forgot the best part—well—one of the best parts. As it just so happens it all works out perfectly since my Hairspray run ends the week before I leave, so I’ll still get my final bow as Tracy Turnblad—I mean, seriously, how perfect is that?”
“Seriously perfect.” I smile. “Really. Congrats. That’s so cool. And well deserved I might add. I only wish I could go with you.”
And the moment I say it, I realize it’s true. It would be so nice to escape all my problems, board a plane and fly away from all this. Besides, I miss hanging with Miles. The last few weeks when he and Haven (along with the rest of the school) were under Roman’s spell were some of the loneliest days of my life. Not having Damen beside me was more than I could bear, but not having the support of my two best friends nearly sent me over the edge. But Miles and Haven don’t remember any of that, none of them do. Only Damen can access small bits and pieces, and what he recalls leaves him feeling terribly guilty.
“I wish you could come too,” he says, messing with my car stereo, trying to find just the right soundtrack to match his good mood. “Maybe after graduation we can all go to Europe! We can get Eurail passes, stay in youth hostels, backpack around—how cool would that be? Just the six of us, you know, you and Damen, Haven and Josh, and me and whoever . . .”
“You and whoever?” I glance at him. “What’s that about?”
“I’m a realist.” He shrugs.
“Please.” I roll my eyes. “Since when?”
“Since last night when I found out I’m going to Italy.” He laughs, running a hand through his cropped brown hair. “Listen, Holt’s great and all, don’t get me wrong. But I’m not fooling myself. I’m not pretending it’s anything more than it is. It’s like we’ve got an expiration date, you know? A full three acts with a definite beginning, middle, and end. It’s not like with you and Damen. You guys are different. You’re lifers.”
“Lifers?” I peer at him, shaking my head as I stop at a traffic light. “Sounds more like a prison term than a happily ever after.”
“You know what I mean.” He inspects his manicure, turning his hot-pink Tracy Turnblad nails this way and that. “It’s just that you guys are so in tune with each other, so connected. And I mean that literally by the way since you’re pretty much always going at it.”
Not anymore. I swallow hard, punching the gas the second the light turns green, crossing the intersection with a loud screech of wheels and leaving a thick trail of rubber behind. Refusing to slow until I pull into the parking lot and scan for Damen who always parks in the second best space next to mine.
But even after I set the brake, he’s nowhere to be found. And I’m just about to climb out, wondering where he could be, when he appears right beside me, gloved hand on my door.
“Where’s your car?” Miles asks, glancing at him as he slams his door shut and slings his backpack over his shoulder. “And what’s up with your hand?”
“I got rid of it,” Damen says, gaze fixed on mine. Then glancing at Miles and seeing his expression he adds, “The car, not the hand.”
“Did you trade it in?” I ask, but only because Miles is listening. Damen doesn’t need to buy, trade, or sell, like normal people do. He can just manifest anything at will.
He shakes his head and walks me to the gate, smiling as he says, “No, I just dropped it off on the side of the road, key in the ignition, engine running.”
“Excuse me?” Miles yelps. “You mean to tell me that you left your shiny, black, BMW M6 Coupe—by the side of the road?”
Damen nods.
“But that’s a hundred-thousand-dollar car!” Miles gasps as his face turns bright red.
“A hundred and ten.” Damen laughs. “Don’t forget, it was fully customized and loaded with options.”
Miles stares at him, eyes practically bugging out of his head, unable to comprehend how anyone could do such a thing—why anyone would do such a thing. “Um, okay, so let me get this straight—you just woke up and decided—Hey, what the hell? I think I’ll just dump my ridiculously expensive luxury car by the side of the road—WHERE JUST ANYONE CAN TAKE IT?”
Damen shrugs. “Pretty much.”
“Because in case you haven’t noticed,” Miles says, practically hyperventilating now. “Some of us are a little car deprived. Some of us were born to parents so cruel and unusual they’re forced to rely on the kindness of friends for the rest of their lives!”
“Sorry.” Damen shrugs. “Guess I hadn’t thought about that. Though if it makes you feel any better, it was all for a very good cause.”