Shadowland (The Immortals #3)(79)

I take a deep breath and nod. It’s all I can do. My throat is so hot and tight there’s no way I can speak.

Knowing they’re waiting, both of them, standing by the door, willing to stay if I’ll just say the word, find the courage to open up and trust them enough to unburden myself for a change.

But I can’t. Who knows how they’d react, and I have enough to deal with already.

So I just smile and wave and promise to catch up with them later. Trying not to wince as they roll their eyes and leave.





forty


I’m in the back room, hunched over the book when Jude comes in, surprised to find I’m still here.

“I saw your car parked out back and wanted to make sure you’re okay.” He pauses in the doorway, eyes narrowed, taking me in, before dropping onto the chair just opposite the desk where he studies me some more.

I gaze up from the book, eyes bleary as I glance at the clock, surprised to see how late it’s gotten, surprised to see I’ve been here so long.

“I guess I got a little caught up.” I shrug. “It’s a lot to slog through.” Closing the cover and pushing it aside as I add, “And most of it useless.”

“You don’t have to pull an all-nighter, you know. You can take it home if you want.”

I think about home, and the message Sabine left for me earlier, informing me of her plans to cook dinner for Munoz, making home pretty much the last place I want to be at this point.

“No thanks.” I shake my head. “I’m done.” Realizing I mean it in every possible way.

For a book that once held such promise, all I’ve read so far are location spells, love spells, and a dubious cure for warts with inconclusive results—nothing about reversing the effects of a tainted elixir—or how to get a certain someone to divulge the only thing I really need to know.

Nothing that holds the slightest bit of promise for me.

“Can I help?” he asks, reading the defeat in my gaze.

I start to shake my head, knowing he can’t. But then I think better. Maybe he can?

“Is she here?” I stare at him, holding my breath. “Riley—is she around?”

He looks to my right, then shakes his head. “Sorry.” He shrugs. “Haven’t seen her since—”

But even though his voice fades, we both know how it ends. He hasn’t seen her since yesterday, just before Damen caught us embracing on the beach—a moment I prefer to forget.

“So how exactly do you teach someone to—you know—see spirits?”

He looks at me for a moment, rubbing his chin as his eyes study mine. “I can’t necessarily teach someone to see them.” He leans back in his seat, propping his bare foot on his knee. “Everybody’s different—with different gifts and abilities. Some are naturally clairvoyant—able to see, or clairaudient—able to hear, or clairsentient—”

“Able to sense.” I nod, already knowing where this is going and eager to get to the good stuff—the juice—the part that helps me. “So what are you then?”

“All three. Oh, and clairscent too.” He smiles, a quick easy grin that practically lights up the room and makes my stomach go all weird again. “You probably are too. All of those I mean. The trick is to get your vibration raised high enough, then I’m sure—” He looks at me, knowing he lost me at vibration and adding, “Everything is energy, you know that, right?”

The words bringing me back to that night on the beach just a few weeks before, when Damen said the very same thing, about energy, vibrations, all of it. Remembering how I felt then, so afraid of confiding what I’d done. Na?ve enough to think that was the worst of my problems, that it couldn’t get any worse.

I gaze at Jude, his mouth still moving as he goes on and on, explaining energy, vibration, and the ability of the soul to live on. But all I can think about is the three of us, Damen, me, and him—wondering how we truly do fit.

“What do you think of past lives?” I ask, cutting him off. “You know, reincarnation. Do you believe in that stuff? Do you think people really have leftover karma they need to work out, again and again until they get it just right?” Holding my breath, wondering how he’ll respond, if he has any recollection of us, who we once were.

“Why not?” He shrugs. “Karma’s pretty much king. Besides, wasn’t it Eleanor Roosevelt who said she didn’t think it would be any more unusual for her to show up in another life, than the one she was in now? You think I’m gonna quash old Eleanor?” He laughs.

I sit back, studying him, wishing he knew about our tangled past. If for no other reason than to get it all out in the open, put it right there on the table, so I could report back to Damen and prove that it’s over. And figuring maybe it’s my job to get the ball rolling, I take a deep breath and say, “Have you ever heard of someone named Bastiaan de Kool?”

He looks at me, squinting.

“He was—Dutch—an artist—he painted—and—stuff—” I shake my head and look away, feeling foolish for bringing it up. I mean, what exactly am I supposed to follow that with? Well, just so you know, Bastiaan was you, several hundred years ago—and the person you painted was me!

Seeing him sit there before me, lips quirked, shoulders lifted, clearly unaware of what I’m getting at. And short of escorting him to Summerland and re-creating the gallery, neither of which I’m going to do, there’s no way to continue. I’ll just have to sit this one out. Wait until my three lonely months are up.