Blue Moon (32 page)

She rolls her eyes and turns away, singing along to her iPod, her voice raspy, warbled, croaking out a Kelly Clarkson song in a way it was never intended. Oblivious to my mom who smiles and chucks her lightly on the knee, oblivious to my dad, gazing at me through the rearview mirror, our smiles meeting at the exact same moment, sharing a joke meant only for us.

Still holding that smile as a huge logging truck pulls out in front of us, slamming into the side of our car, and making the whole world go black.

 

The next thing I know I'm sitting on my bed,
mouth wide open in a silent scream that never had a chance to be heard. Having lost my family for the second time in a year, left with only the echo of Riley's words:

You have to find Damen—before it's too late!

I spring from my bed and bolt for my den, going straight for the minifridge and finding the elixir and antidote gone. Unsure if it means I'm the only one who went back in time while everyone else stayed the same, or if I'm picking up right where I left off—with Damen in danger and me running away.

I sprint down the stairs, moving so fast they're like a blur under my feet, having no idea what day it is, or even what time, but knowing I've got to make it to Ava's before it's too late.

But just when I hit the landing, Sabine calls out, “Ever? Is that you?”

And I freeze, watching as she comes around the corner, wearing a stained apron with a full plate of brownies in hand.

“Oh, good.” She smiles. “I just tried your mom's recipe—you know the ones she always used to bake? And I want you to try one and tell me what you think.”

I freeze, unable to do anything but blink. Forcing a patience I don't really have when I say, “I'm sure they're fine. Listen, Sabine, I—”

But she doesn't let me finish. She just cocks her head to the side and says, “Well, aren't you at least going to try one?”

And I know this is not just about seeing me eat, it's also about wanting approval—
my
approval. She's been questioning whether or not she's fit to look after me, wondering if she's in some way responsible for my behavioral problems, thinking that if she'd only handled things better, none of this would've happened. I mean, my brilliant, successful, high-performing aunt, who's never lost a single court case—wants approval from
me
.

“Just one,” she insists. “It's not like I'm trying to
poison
you!” And when her eyes meet mine, I can't help but notice her seemingly random choice of words, wondering if it's some sort of message, pushing me to hurry, but knowing I have to get through this first. “I know they're probably not nearly as good as your mom's, because hers were the undisputed best, but it
is
her recipe—and for some reason I woke up early this morning with this overwhelming urge to make them. And so I thought—”

Knowing she's capable of going into a full-on opening argument in her pursuit to convince me, I reach toward the stack of brownies. Going for the smallest square, figuring I'll just eat it and run. But when I see the unmistakable letter
E
carved right in its center—I
know
.

It's my sign.

The one I've been waiting for all along.

Just when I'd given up hope, Riley pulled through. Marking the smallest brownie on the plate with my initial in the exact same way that she used to do.

And when I look for the largest one and see an
R
carved onto it, I definitely know it's from her. The secret message, the sign she promised, right before she left me for good.

But still, not wanting to be some crazy delusional person who finds secret meaning in a plate of baked goods, I glance at Sabine and say, “Did you—” I point at my brownie, the one with my initial carved into its middle. “Did you put that there?”

She squints, first at me, and then at the brownie, then she shakes her head and says, “Listen, Ever, if you don't want to try it, then you certainly don't have to, I just thought—”

But before she can finish, I've already plucked it off the plate and plopped it into my mouth, closing my eyes as I savor its chewy sweetness, immediately immersed in the feeling of
home
. That wonderful place I was lucky enough to revisit, no matter how short a time—finally realizing it's not relegated to just one single place, it's wherever you make it.

Sabine looks at me, her face anxious, awaiting my approval. “I tried them once before, but for some reason they didn't turn out nearly as good as your mom's.” She shrugs, gazing at me shyly, eagerly awaiting my verdict. “She used to joke that she used a secret ingredient, but now I wonder if that might've been true.”

I swallow hard, wiping the crumbs from my lips, and smiling when I say, “There
was
a secret ingredient.” Seeing her expression fall, wondering if that means they're no good. “The secret ingredient was
love,
” I tell her. “And you must've used plenty, because these are awesome.”

“Really?” Her eyes light up.

“Really.” I hug her to me, but only for a moment before I'm pulling away. “Today's Friday, right?”

She looks at me, her brows merged. “Yes, it's Friday. Why? Are you okay?”

But I just nod and flee out the door, knowing I've even less time than I thought.

 

I pull into Ava's drive, and park my car
sloppily—back wheels on the cement, front wheels on the grass, moving toward the door so quickly I barely acknowledge the stairs. But just as I reach it, I take a step back—something feels weird, off, strange in a way I can't quite explain. Like it's too
quiet,
too
still.
Even though the house appears just as I left it—planters on either side of the door, welcome mat in place—it's static in a way that seems eerie. And as I raise my knuckles to knock, I've just barely tapped it when it opens before me.

I head through the living room and into the kitchen, calling out for Ava and noticing how everything is just as I left it—teacup on the counter, cookies on a plate, everything in its usual place. But when I peek in the cupboard and see that the antidote and elixir are missing, I'm not sure what to think. Not knowing if it means that my plan worked and it wasn't needed after all, or if the opposite is true, and that something's gone wrong.

I race toward the indigo door at the end of the hall, eager to see if Damen's still there, but I'm blocked by Roman who stands right before it. His face widening into a a grin as he says, “So nice to have you back, Ever. Though I told Ava you would be. You know what they say—you can't go home again!”

I take in his deliberately tousled hair that perfectly frames the Ouroboros tattoo on his neck—knowing that despite my advances, despite my waking the school, he's still the one in charge around here.

“Where's Damen?” My eyes rake over his face, my gut twisting tight. “And what've you done with Ava?”

“Now, now.” He smiles. “Don't you worry 'bout a thing. Damen's right where you left him. Though I must say I can't believe that you left him. I underestimated you. I had no idea. Though I can't help but wonder how Damen would feel if he knew. I bet he underestimated you too.”

I swallow hard, remembering Damen's last words:
You left me.
Knowing he didn't underestimate me at all, he knew exactly which path I'd choose.

“And as for Ava.” Roman smiles. “You'll be happy to know that I've
done
nothing with her. You should know by now that I only have eyes for
you,
” he murmurs, moving so fast I've barely had a chance to blink when his face is mere inches from mine. “Ava left on her own accord. Allowing us our privacy. And now that it's just a matter of—” He pauses to glance at his watch. “Well—seconds really, until you and I can make it official. You know, minus all the nasty guilt you would've felt had we hooked up sooner—before he'd had a chance to
pass
. Not that
I
would've felt guilty, but you strike me as the sort who likes to think of yourself as good and pure and well intentioned and all that rubbish, which, truth be told, really is a bit too maudlin for my tastes. But I'm sure we'll find a way to work through all that.”

I tune out his words as I plan my next move. Trying to determine his weakness, his kryptonite, his most vulnerable chakra. Since he's blocking the very door I need to get through, the door that leads to Damen, I've no choice but to go
through
him. Though I need to be careful with how I proceed. Because when I do make a
move, it needs to be swift, unexpected, right on target. Otherwise, I'm in for a battle I may never win.

He lifts his hand to my face and caresses my cheek, and I slap it so hard the crunch of his bones pierces the air as his crumpled fingers wobble and dangle before me.

“Ouch.”
He smiles, shaking his hand as he flexes his instantly healed digits. “You're a feisty one, aren't you? But you know how that only turns me on, right?” I roll my eyes, feeling his cold breath on my cheek as he says, “Why do you continue to fight me, Ever? Why do you push me away when I'm all you have left?”

“Why are you doing this?” I ask, my stomach twitching as his eyes darken and narrow, displaying a complete absence of color and light. “What did Damen ever do to you?”

He tilts his head back, peering at me when he says, “It's real simple, darlin'.” His voice suddenly changing, dropping the British accent and adopting a tone I've never heard from him before. “He killed Drina. So I'm killing him. And then everything's even. Case closed.”

And the second he says it, I
know.
I know exactly how I'll take him down and get behind that door. Because along with the
who
and the
how,
I've now got the
why.
The elusive motive I've needed all this time. And now the only thing standing between Damen and me is one solid punch to Roman's navel chakra, or sacral center as it's sometimes called—the center of jealousy, envy, and the irrational desire to possess.

One solid blow and Roman is history.

But still, before I take him down, I've one more thing to do. So I look at him, my gaze fixed and unwavering when I say, “But Damen didn't kill Drina.
I
did.”

“Nice try.” He laughs. “Pathetic, a bit maudlin like I said, but I'm afraid it won't work. You can't save Damen that way.”

“But why not? If you're so interested in justice, an eye for an eye
and all that—then you should know that
I'm
the one who did it.” I nod, my voice taking on new urgency and strength. “
I'm
the one who killed that bitch.” Watching as he sways, ever so slightly, but still enough for me to notice. “She was always hanging around, completely obsessed with Damen. You must've known that, right? That she was totally fixated on him?”

He winces. Neither confirming nor denying, but that wince is all I need to keep going, knowing I've hit the sore spot. “She wanted me out of the way so she could have Damen to herself, and after months of my trying to ignore her and hoping she'd go away, she was dumb enough to show up at my house and try to confront me. And—well—when she refused to back down and went after me instead—I killed her.” I shrug, relaying the story with a lot more calm than I felt at the time, making sure to leave out my own ineptitude, cluelessness, and fears. “And it was so
easy.
” I smile, shaking my head as though reliving the moment all over again. “Seriously. You should've
seen
her. It's like, one moment she was standing before me all flaming red hair and white skin—and the next—
gone
! And by the way, Damen didn't show up until the deed was already done. So, as you see, if anyone's guilty, it's
me
and not him.”

My gaze is on his, my fists ready to strike, moving right into his space when I say, “So, what do you say? You still wanna date me? Or would you rather kill me instead? Either way, I'll understand.” I place my hand on his chest and push him hard against the door. Thinking how easy it would be to just lower it a few inches, jab really hard, and be done with all this.

“You?”
he says, the word more like a question, a crisis of conscience, than the accusation he meant it to be. “You and
not
Damen?”

I nod, my body tensed, poised for fight, knowing nothing will keep me from getting into that room, and raising my fist as he says, “It's not too late! We can still save him!”

I freeze, my fist hovering at the halfway mark, unsure if I'm being played.

Watching as he shakes his head, visibly distressed when he says, “I didn't know—I thought for sure it was him—he gave me
everything
—he gave me
life—this life
! And I thought for sure that he—”

He moves around me and flees down the hall, calling, “You go check on him—I'll get the antidote!”

 

The first thing I see when I burst through the door
is Damen. Still lying on the futon, looking as thin and pale as he did when I left him.

The second thing I see is Rayne. Huddling by his side, pressing a damp cloth to his face. Her eyes growing wide when she sees me, her hand held up before her as she shouts, “Ever,
no
! Don't come any closer! If you want to save Damen, then stop right there—do
not
break the circle!”

I gaze down, seeing some grainy white substance that looks just like salt, formed into a perfect ring that keeps the two of them in and me out. Then I look at her, wondering what she wants, what she could possibly have in mind cowering beside Damen and warning me away. Noticing how she looks even odder outside of Summerland with her ghostly pale face, tiny features, and large coal-black eyes.