The Immortals 3 - Shadowland (10 page)

Jude locks the front door then leads me down a short hall and into a small room on the right. I follow behind, hands flexed by my sides, staring at the peace sign on the back of his tee and reminding myself that if he does anything creepy I can take him down quickly and make him regret the day he ever went after me.

He motions toward a padded foldable chair facing a small square table covered by shiny blue cloth, taking the seat just opposite me and propping his bare foot on his knee as he says, “So, what’s your specialty?”

I gaze at him, hands folded, focusing on taking slow deep breaths while trying not to squirm.

“Tarot cards? Runes? I Ching? Psychometry? Which is it?”

I glance at the door, knowing I could reach it in a fraction of a second, which might cause a stir, but so what?

“You
are
going to give me a reading,
right
?” His gaze levels on mine. “You do realize that’s what I meant by
audition
?” He laughs, displaying a matching set of dimples as he swings his dreads over his shoulder and laughs some more.

I stare at the tablecloth, tracing the bumpy raw silk with my fingers, heat rising to my cheeks when I remember Damen’s last words, how he can
always
sense me, and hoping he was just saying that—that he can’t sense me
now.

“I don’t need anything,” I mumble, still unwilling to meet his gaze. “All I need is a quick touch of your hand and I’m good to go.”

“Palmistry.” He nods. “Not what I would’ve expected, but okay.” He leans toward me, hands open, palms up, ready to go.

I swallow hard, seeing the deeply etched lines, but that’s not where the story lives—at least not for me. “I don’t actually read ’em,” I say, voice betraying my nervousness, as I work up the courage to touch him. “It’s more the—the
energy
—I just—tune into it. That’s where all the info is.”

He pulls back, studying me so closely I can’t meet his eyes. Knowing I need to just touch him, get it over with. And I need to do it
now.

“Is it just the hand, or—?” He flexes his fingers, the calluses lining his palms rising and falling again.

I clear my throat, wondering why I’m so nervous, why I feel like I’m betraying Damen, when all I’m trying to do is land a job that’ll make my aunt happy. “No, it can be anywhere. Your ear, your nose, even your big toe—doesn’t matter, it all reads the same. The hand’s just more accessible, you know?”

“More accessible than the big toe?” He smiles, those sea green eyes seeking mine.

I take a deep breath, thinking how coarse and rough his hands appear, especially compared to Damen’s whose are almost softer than mine. And somehow, even just the thought of that makes this whole moment feel off. Now that our touch is forbidden, just being alone with another guy feels sordid, illicit,
wrong
.

I reach toward him, eyes shut tight, reminding myself it’s just a job interview—that there’s really no reason I can’t land this thing quickly and painlessly. Pressing my finger to the center of his palm and feeling the soft, gentle give of his flesh. Allowing his stream of energy to flow through me—so peaceful, serene, it’s like wading into the calmest of seas. So different from the rush of tingle and heat I’ve grown used to with Damen—at least until the shock of Jude’s life story unfolds.

I yank my hand back as though I’ve been stung, fumbling for the amulet just under my top, noting the alarm on his face as I rush to explain. “I’m sorry.” I shake my head, angry with myself for overreacting. “
Normally
I wouldn’t do that.
Normally
I’m way more discreet. I was just a little—surprised—that’s all. I didn’t expect to see anything quite so—” I stop, knowing my inane babbling is only making it worse. “
Normally
, when I give readings, I hide my reactions much better than that.” I nod, forcing my gaze to meet his, knowing whatever I say won’t hide the fact that I choked like the worst kind of amateur. “Seriously.” I smile, lips stretching in a way that can’t be convincing. “I’m like the ultimate poker face.” Peering at him again and seeing this isn’t quite working. “A poker face that is also full of
empathy
and
compassion
,” I stammer, unable to stop this runaway train. “I mean, really—I’m just—
full of it
—” I cringe, shaking my head as I gather my things so I can call it a day. There’s no way he’ll hire me now.

He slides to the edge of his seat, leaning so close I struggle to breathe. “So tell me,” he says, gaze like a hand on my wrist, holding me in place. “What exactly
did
you see?”

I swallow hard, closing my eyes for a moment and replaying the movie I just saw in my head. The images so clear, dancing before me, as I say, “You’re different.” I peer at him, his body unmoving, gaze steady, allowing no clues as to whether or not I’m on track.

“But then, you’ve always been different. Ever since you were little you’ve seen them.” I swallow hard and avert my gaze, the image of him in his crib, smiling and waving at the grandmother who passed years before his birth now etched on my brain. “And when—” I pause, not wanting to say it, but knowing that if I want the job, then I’d better get to it. “But when your father—
shot himself
—back when you were ten—you thought you were to blame. Convinced your insistence on seeing your mother, who, by the way passed just one year before, somehow sent him over the edge. It was years before you accepted the truth, that your father was just lonely, depressed, and anxious to be with your mother again. Even so, sometimes you still doubt it.”

I gaze at him, noting how he hasn’t so much as flinched, though something in those deep green eyes hints at the truth.

“He tried to visit a few times. Wanting to apologize for what he did, but even though you sensed him, you blocked it. Sick of being teased by your classmates and scolded by the nuns—not to mention your foster dad who—” I shake my head, not wanting to continue, but knowing I must. “You just wanted to be normal.” I shrug. “Treated like everyone else.” I trace my fingers over the tablecloth, throat beginning to tighten, knowing exactly how it feels to long to fit in, all the while knowing you never truly can. “But after you ran away and met Lina, who, by the way, is
not
your real grandmother—your
real
grandparents are dead.” I look at him again, wondering if he’s surprised that I knew that but he gives nothing away. “Anyway, she took you in, fed you, clothed you, she—”

“She saved my life.” He sighs, leaning back in his seat, long tanned fingers rubbing at his eyes. “In more ways than one. I was so lost and she—”

“Accepted you for who you
really are
.” I nod,
seeing
the whole story before me, as though I’m right there.

“And who’s that?” he asks, hands splayed on his knees, gazing at me. “Who am I
really
?”

I look at him, not even pausing when I say, “A guy so smart you finished high school in tenth grade. A guy with such amazing mediumistic abilities you’ve helped hundreds of people and asked very little in exchange. And yet, despite all of that, you’re also a guy who’s so—” I look at him, lips lifting at the corners. “Well I was going to say
lazy
—but since I really do want this job I’ll say
laid-back
instead.” I laugh, relieved when he laughs along with me. “And given the choice you’d never work another day. You’d spend the rest of eternity just searching for that one perfect wave.”

“Is that a metaphor?” he asks, a crooked smile on his face.

“Not in your case.” I shrug. “In your case, it’s a
fact
.”

He nods, leaning back in his chair, gazing at me in a way that makes my stomach dance. Dropping forward again, feet flat on the floor when he says, “Guilty.” Eyes wistful, searching mine. “And now, since there are no secrets left, since you’ve peered right into the core of my soul—I have to ask, any insights into my future—a certain blonde perhaps?”

I shift in my seat, preparing to speak when he cuts me right off.

“And I’m talking the
immediate
future, as in this Friday night. Will Stacia
ever
agree to go out with me?”

“Stacia?” My voice cracks as my eyes practically pop out of my head. So much for the poker face I was bragging about.

Watching as he closes his eyes and shakes his head, those long, golden dreadlocks contrasting so nicely with his gorgeous dark skin. “Anastasia Pappas, aka Stacia,” he says, unaware of my sigh of relief, thrilled to know it’s some other horrible Stacia and not the one I know.

Tuning in to the energy surrounding her name and knowing right away that it’s never gonna happen—at least not in the way that he thinks. “You really want to know?” I ask, knowing I could save him a lot of wasted effort by telling him now, but doubting he really wants to hear the truth as much as he claims. “I mean, wouldn’t you rather just wait and see how it plays?” I look at him, hoping he’ll agree.

“Is that what you’re going to say to your clients?” he asks, back to business again.

I shake my head, looking right at him. “Hey, if they’re fool enough to ask, then I’m fool enough to tell.” I smile. “So I guess the question is, how big of a fool are you?”

He pauses, hesitates for so long that I worry that I took it too far. But then he smiles, right hand extended as he rises from his seat. “Fool enough to hire you. Now I know why you wouldn’t shake hands the first time around.” He nods, squeezing my hand for a few seconds too long. “That’s one of the most amazing readings I’ve ever had.”

“
One of?
” I lift my brow in mock offense as I reach for my bag and walk alongside him.

He laughs, heading for the door and glancing at me when he says, “Why don’t you stop by tomorrow morning, say around ten?”

I pause, knowing there’s no way I can possibly do that.

“What? You prefer to sleep in? Join the club.” He shrugs. “But believe me, if
I
can do it,
you
can too.”

“It’s not that.” I pause, wondering why I’m so reluctant to tell him. I mean, now that I’ve got the job what do I care what he thinks?

He looks at me, waiting, gaze adding up the seconds.

“It’s just—I have class.” I shrug, thinking how
class
sounds so much older than
school
, like I’m in college or something.

He squints, looking me over again. “Where?”

“Um, over at Bay View,” I mumble, trying not to wince when I say it out loud.

“The
high school
?” His eyes narrow further, newly informed.

“Wow, you really
are
psychic.” I laugh, knowing I sound nervous, stupid, coming clean when I add, “I’m finishing up my junior year.”

He looks at me for a moment—too long a moment—then he turns and opens the door. “You seem older,” he says, the words so abstract I’m not sure if they were meant for me or for him. “Stop by when you can. I’ll show you how to work the register and a few other things around here.”

“You want me to sell stuff? I thought I was just giving readings?” Surprised to hear my job description expanding so quickly.

“When you’re not giving readings you’ll be working the floor. Is that a problem?”

I shake my head as he holds the door open. “Just—just one thing.” I bite down on my lip, unsure how to proceed. “Well, two things actually. First—do you mind if I go by a different name—you know, for the readings and stuff? I live with my aunt, and while she’s totally cool and all, she doesn’t exactly know about my abilities, so—”

“Be whoever you want.” He shrugs. “No worries. But since I need to start booking appointments, who do you want to be?”

I pause, not having thought this through until now. Wondering if I should choose
Rachel
after my best friend in Oregon, or something even more common like Anne or Jenny or something like that. But knowing how people always expect psychics to be about as far from normal as it gets, I gaze toward the beach and choose the third thing I see, bypassing
Tree
and
Basketball Court
as I say, “Avalon.” Immediately liking the sound of it. “You know, like the town on Catalina Island?”

He nods, following me outside as he asks, “And the second thing?”

I turn, taking a deep breath and hoping he’ll listen when I say, “You can do better than Stacia.”

He looks at me, gaze moving over my face, clearly resigned to the truth if not exactly thrilled to hear it from me.

“You have a serious history of falling for all the wrong girls.” I shake my head. “You do know that, right?”

I wait for a response, some recognition of what I just said, but he just shrugs and waves me away. Still watching as I head for my car, having no idea I can
hear
him when he thinks:
Don’t I know it.

The moment I pull into the drive Sabine calls my cell, telling me to just go ahead and order a pizza for dinner since she has to work late. And even though I’m tempted to tell her about my new job, I don’t. I mean, obviously I need to inform her, if for no other reason than to spare me the one she’s lined up, but still, there’s no way I can admit to getting this
particular
job. She’ll think it’s weird. Even if I omit all the stuff about getting paid to give readings (and believe me, I’d
never
dream of mentioning that) she’ll still think a job at a metaphysical bookstore is strange. Maybe even silly. Who knows?

Sabine’s far too reasonable and rational to ever get behind such a thing. Preferring to live in a world that’s sturdy and solid, that makes perfect sense, versus the
real
one that is anything but. And while I hate always having to lie to her, I really don’t see how I have much of a choice. There’s just no way she can ever learn the truth about me, let alone that I’ll be giving readings under the code name of Avalon.

I’ll just tell her I got a job somewhere local, someplace normal, like a regular bookstore, or a Starbucks perhaps. And then of course I’ll have to find a way to back the story up in case she decides to follow up on all that.

I park in the garage and head up the stairs, tossing my bag onto my bed without even looking, then heading for my closet as I yank off my tee. Just about to unzip my jeans when Damen says, “Don’t mind me, I’m just sitting here enjoying the view.” I cover my chest with my arms, heart beating triple time as Damen lets out a low, sweet whistle and smiles at me.

“I didn’t even
see
you. I didn’t even
sense
you for that matter,” I say, reaching for my tee again.

“Guess you were too distracted.” He smiles, patting the space right beside him, face creasing with laughter when I pull on my shirt before joining him.

“What’re you doing here?” I ask, not really interested in the answer, just glad to be near him again.

“I figured since Sabine’s working late—”

“How’d you—” But then I shake my head and laugh. Of course he knows. He can read everyone’s mind, including mine, but only when I want him to. And even though I usually leave my shield down, making my thoughts accessible for him to view, right now I just can’t. I feel like I need to explain, tell my side of the story, before he can peek in my head and draw his own conclusions.

“And since you didn’t come by after school—” He leans toward me, eyes seeking mine.

“I wanted to give you some time with the twins.” I pull a pillow onto my belly and finger the seam. “You know, so you could get used to being together and—stuff—” I shrug, meeting his gaze, knowing he’s not buying it, not for a second.

“Oh, we’re quite used to each other.” He laughs. “I assure you of that.” He shakes his head. “It’s been quite a day—very busy and very—
interesting
, for lack of a better word. But we missed you.” He smiles, eyes grazing over my hair, my face, my lips, like the sweetest lingering kiss. “It would’ve been so much better if you’d been there.”

I avert my gaze, doubting any of that’s the slightest bit true. Muttering under my breath when I say, “I bet.”

He touches my chin, making me face him, face masked with concern when he asks, “Hey, what’s this about?”

I press my lips together and look away, scrunching my pillow so tight it threatens to burst, wishing I hadn’t said anything because now I have to explain. “I’m just—” I shake my head. “I’m just not so sure the twins would agree.” I shrug. “They pretty much blame me for
everything.
And it’s not like they don’t have a point. I mean—”

But before I can finish, I realize something—Damen is
touching me
.

Like
touching me touching me
.

For reals.

No glove, no telepathic embrace, just good old-fashioned skin-on-skin contact—or at least,
almost
contact.

“How’d you—” I look at him, his eyes shining with laughter when he catches me gaping at his bare, gloveless hand.

“You like?” He smiles, grasping my arm and lifting it high, both of us watching as the thin veil of energy, the only thing separating my skin from his, pulsates between us. “I’ve been working on it all day. Nothing’s going to keep me from you, Ever.
Nothing
.” He nods, his gaze meeting mine.

I look at him, mind racing with possibilities, of all this could mean. Enjoying the
almost
feel of his skin, separated only by the thinnest shroud of pure, vibrating energy, invisible to everyone but us. And while it does somewhat temper the usual rush of tingle and heat, and while it could never compare to the real thing, I miss him so much—just being with him—I’ll take what I can get.

I lean into him, watching the veil expand until it stretches from our heads to our toes. Allowing us to lie together in the way that we used to—or at least
almost
in the way that we used to.

“Much better.” I smile, hands roaming his face, his arms, his chest. “Not to mention how it’s far less embarrassing than the black leather glove.”

“
Embarrassing
?” He pulls away and looks at me, mock outrage displayed on his face.

“Come on.” I laugh. “Even
you
have to admit it was a total fashion faux pas. I thought Miles was going to have a seizure every time he saw it,” I murmur, inhaling his wonderful, warm, musky scent as I bury my face in his neck. “So how’d you do it?” My lips grazing his skin, longing to taste every last inch. “How’d you harness the magick of Summerland and bring it back here?”

“It’s got nothing to do with Summerland,” he whispers, lips at the curve of my ear. “It’s just the magick of energy. Besides, you should know by now that most everything you can do there, can be done here as well.”

I gaze at him, remembering Ava and all the elaborate gold jewelry and designer clothes she used to manifest there, and how upset she always was when they didn’t survive the return trip home.

But before I can even mention it, he says, “While it’s true that the things manifested there can’t be transferred here, if you understand how the magick works, if you truly get how everything is really just made up of energy, then there’s no reason you can’t manifest the same things here. Like your Lamborghini, for instance.”

“I’d hardly call it
my
Lamborghini,” I say, cheeks flushing despite the fact that it wasn’t so long ago when he had a thing for exotic cars too. “The second I was done with it I sent it right back. I mean, it’s not like I
kept
it.”

He smiles, burying his hand in my hair and smoothing the ends between the tips of his fingers. “In between manifesting things for the twins, I perfected it.”

“What kinds of things?” I ask, moving so I can better see him, immediately distracted by the sight of his lips, remembering how warm and silky they once felt on mine, wondering if this new energy shield will allow us to experience that again.

“It all started with the flat-screen TV.” He sighs. “Or, should I say flat
screens
since they ended up requiring one for each of their rooms, plus another two for the den that they’ll share. And not long after I got them all hooked up and working, they sat down to watch and not five minutes in they were inundated with images of things they couldn’t live without.”

I squint, surprised to hear that, since the twins never seemed to care all that much about material things back in Summerland, but maybe that’s because material things tend to lose most of their value once you can manifest whatever you want. I guess losing their magick has made them just like anyone else—longing for everything just out of their reach.

“Trust me, they’re an advertiser’s dream.” He smiles, shaking his head. “Falling right into that coveted youth market of thirteen to thirty.”

“Except for the fact that you didn’t actually
buy
any of those things, did you? You just closed your eyes and made them
appear.
Hardly the same as going to the store and charging it on your credit card. In fact, do you even have a credit card?” Never having seen him even carry a wallet, much less a pile of plastic.

“No need.” He laughs, finger skimming the bridge of my nose before his lips meet the tip. “But even though I didn’t actually go out and
buy
all of those things as you so generously pointed out...” He smiles. “That doesn’t make those commercials any less effective, which was really my point.”

I pull away, knowing he’s expecting me to laugh, or at least say something lighthearted in reply, but I can’t. And even though I hate to disappoint him, I still shake my head and say, “Either way, you need to be careful.” I shift my body so my gaze can better meet his. “You shouldn’t spoil them so much, or make them so comfortable they’re reluctant to leave.” He squints at me, clearly not following my meaning, so I rush ahead to explain. “What I mean is, you need to remember that living with you is a
temporary
solution. Our main goal is to look after them until we can restore their magick and get them back to Summerland, which is where they belong.”

He rolls onto his back and stares at the ceiling. Turning his face toward mine as he says, “About that.”

I hold my breath and look at him, my stomach dipping ever so slightly.

“I’ve been thinking—” He squints. “Who’s to say Summerland is where they belong?”

I balk, an argument pressing forth from my lips until he raises his finger and stops it right there.

“Ever, the question as to whether or not they return, well, don’t you think that’s something they should decide? I’m not sure we’re the ones who should be making those choices.”

“But we’re
not
choosing,” I say, voice shrill, unsteady. “That’s what they want! Or at least that’s what they said the night I found them. They were furious with me, blaming me for the loss of their magick, for stranding them here—or at least Rayne was; Romy—well, Romy was just Romy.” I shrug. “But still. Are you saying that’s changed?”

He closes his eyes for a moment, before leveling his gaze back on mine. “I’m not sure they even know what they want at this point,” he says. “They’re a little overwhelmed, excited by the possibilities of being here, and yet too terrified to even step outside. I just think we should give them some time and space and keep our minds open to the possibility of them staying a little bit longer than planned. Or at least until they’re fully adjusted, and better able to decide for themselves. Besides, I owe them, it’s the least I can do. Don’t forget they helped me find you.”

I swallow hard and avert my gaze, torn between wanting what’s best for the twins while worried about the impact it’ll have on Damen and me. I mean, they’ve been here less than a day and I’m already mourning my access to him, which is a totally selfish way to view two people in need. Still, I don’t think you have to be psychic to know that with the two of them around, requiring all kinds of assistance, times like this—when it’s just Damen and me—will be severely limited.

“Is that the first time you met? In Summerland?” I ask, seeming to remember Rayne saying something about Damen helping them, not the other way around.

Damen shakes his head, eyes on mine when he says, “No, that was just the first time I’d seen them in a long time. We actually go way back—all the way back to Salem.”

I look at him, jaw dropped, wondering if he was there during the trials, though he’s quick to dispel that.

“It was just before the trouble started, and I was only passing through. They’d gotten into some mischief and couldn’t find their way home—so I gave them a ride in my carriage and their aunt was never the wiser.” He laughs.

And I’m just about to make some crappy little comment, something about him spoiling and enabling them from the very start, when he says, “They’ve suffered an extraordinarily hard life—losing everything they’ve ever known and loved at a very young age—surely you can relate to that? I know I can.”

I sigh, feeling small and selfish and embarrassed that I even needed to be reminded of that. Determined to stick to the practical when I say, “But who’s going to raise them?” Hoping it will seem like my concerns are far less about me and more about them. I mean, with all of their unmitigated weirdness, not to mention their totally bizarre history, where would they go? Who could possibly look after them?

“
We’re
going to look after them.” Damen rolls onto his side and makes me face him again. “
You
and
I.
Together. We’re the only ones who can.”

I sigh, wanting to turn away, but drawn to the warmth of his all-encompassing gaze. “I’m just not sure we’re fit to be parents.” I shrug, hand moving over his shoulder, getting lost in his tangle of hair. “Or role models, or guardians, or whatever. We’re too young!” I add, thinking it’s a good and valid point, and expecting just about any reaction but the laughter I get.

“Too
young
?” He shakes his head. “Speak for yourself! I
have
been around for a while, you know. Plenty long enough to qualify as a suitable guardian for the twins. Besides.” He smiles. “How hard can it be?”

I close my eyes and shake my head, remembering my feeble attempts to guide Riley both in human and ghost form, and how I failed miserably. And to be honest, I’m just not sure I’m up for it again. “You have no idea what you’re getting into,” I tell him. “You can’t even begin to imagine what it’s like to guide two headstrong, thirteen-year-old girls. It’s like herding cats—completely impossible.”

“Ever,” he says, voice low, coaxing, determined to ease my concerns and chase all the dark clouds away. “I know what’s really bothering you, believe me, I do. But it’s just five more years until they turn eighteen and head off on their own, and then we’ll have the freedom to do whatever we want. What’s five years when we have all of eternity?”

But I shake my head again, refusing to be swayed. “
If
they head off on their own,” I say. “
If.
Believe me, there are plenty of kids who stick around the house
long
after that.”