Shadowland (The Immortals #3)(80)

I shake my head, determined to put it behind me and get down to the business at hand. Looking at him and clearing my throat when I say, “So, how exactly does one raise their vibration?”




By the time we’re done, I’m no closer to talking to dead people than I was before I started. At least not the dead person I’m actually interested in. Though plenty of other disincarnates made themselves known, but I pretty much blocked them all out.

“It takes practice.” He locks the front door and leads me to my car. “I sat in a weekly spirit circle for years before my powers fully returned.”

“I thought you were born with it?” I squint.

“I was.” He nods. “But after blocking it out for so long, I had to really work to develop it again.”

I sigh, unable to see myself joining a séance group and wishing there was an easier way.

“She visits you in your dreams, you know.”

I roll my eyes, remembering that one crazy dream, and knowing no way was that her.

But he just looks at me, nodding when he says. “Of course she does. They always do. It’s the easiest way to get through.”

I look at him, leaning against my car door, key in hand as my eyes travel his face. Knowing I should go, say good night and be on my way, but for some reason I’m unable to move.

“The subconscious mind takes over at night, freeing us of all the usual restrictions we put on ourselves, all the things we block out, telling ourselves it can’t happen, that mystical things aren’t really possible, when the truth is, the universe is magical, and mysterious, and much grander than it seems, with only the thinnest veil of energy separating us from them. I know it’s confusing with the way they communicate in symbols—and to be honest, I’m not sure how much of that is us—the way we arrange information—or them, and the restrictions on just how much they’re allowed to share.”

I take a deep breath, my whole body shivering though I’m not really cold. Spooked is more like it. Spooked by his words, his presence, the way he’s making me feel. But not cold. In fact, not at all.

Wondering what Riley could’ve meant with the glass prison, the way I could see Damen, but he couldn’t see me. Trying to view it as though it’s an assignment for English, like symbolism in a book. Wondering if it means that Damen’s misguided, can’t see what’s in front of him? And if so, what does that mean?

“Just because you can’t see something doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist,” he says, his voice the only sound in this still and quiet night.

I nod, feeling like I should know that better than anyone as Jude stands before me, going on and on about dimensions, the afterlife, and how time’s just a made-up concept that doesn’t really exist, and I can’t help but wonder what he’d do if I gave him a treat. Just grabbed his hand, closed my eyes, and took him to Summerland to show him just how deep it really goes—

He catches me, catches me looking. My gaze roaming his smooth dark skin, golden dreadlocks, the scar splicing his brow, until finally meeting those sea green eyes, so deep, so knowing, I quickly look away.

“Ever—” he groans, voice low, thick, as he reaches for me. “Ever—I—”

But I just shake my head and turn away, climbing into my car and backing out of the space. Glancing into my rearview mirror to find him still standing there, still looking after me, his longing displayed in his gaze.

Shaking my head and focusing back on the road, telling myself that particular past, the things I once felt, have nothing to do with my future.





forty-one


Originally the party was supposed to be Saturday, but with Miles leaving early next week, and with so much to do between now and then, we moved it to Thursday, the last day of school.

And even though I know better, even though I’m fully aware that Damen is a man of his word, I’m still disappointed when I walk into English and find he’s not there.

I glance at Stacia, her eyes narrowing, lips smirking, extending her foot as I try to move past, as Honor sits beside her, playing along despite the fact that she can barely meet my eyes—not with the secret we share.

And as I take my seat and gaze around the room, one thing is clear—everyone has a partner, a friend, someone to talk to—everyone but me. Having spent the better part of the year befriending someone who refuses to show, his seat beside mine, woefully empty.

Like a big block of ice where the sun used to be.

So as Mr. Robins yammers on and on about stuff no one really cares about, including him, I distract myself by lowering my shield and aiming my quantum remote at all of my classmates, filling the room with a cacophony of color and sound, remembering how my life used to be—my life before Damen when I was constantly overwhelmed.

Tuning in to Mr. Robins who’s looking forward to the moment the final bell rings so he can enjoy a nice long summer free of us, then Craig who’s planning to break up with Honor by the end of the day so he can make the most of the next three months. And over to Stacia who still has no memory of her brief time with Damen, though she’s definitely still into him. Having recently discovered where he surfs, she’s planning to spend the summer in a revolving collection of bikinis, determined to start senior year on his arm. And even though it bugs me to see that, I force myself to shrug it off and move on to Honor, surprised to see her agenda’s full—having nothing to do with Stacia or Craig—and everything to do with her growing interest in the craft.