The Immortals 3 - Shadowland (13 page)

After lunch I head for Mystics and Moonbeams. Eager to start my on-the-job training, hoping it’ll provide a nice distraction from the mess otherwise known as my life.

It was bad enough when Damen kept disappearing between classes so he could check in on the twins, but by lunch, when I assured him I was fine, that Roman wouldn’t bother me, and that he should just stay home, I headed for our table only to learn that Haven has boarded the Roman train. Picking apart a vanilla-frosted cupcake while gushing about the
big part
he played in securing her the job at the vintage store, despite her arriving at the interview ten minutes late.

And all I could do was mumble an occasional word of dissent, which didn’t go over so well. So after her third excruciatingly dramatic eye roll, after telling me to
relax and unclench
for the umpteenth time, I tossed my uneaten sandwich and made for the gate. Vowing to keep an eye on her, do whatever it takes to keep them from getting together. Just one more item on my growing to-do list.

I pull into the alley, parking in one of two spaces behind the store before heading toward the front, half expecting to find the door locked, figuring Jude couldn’t resist the call of killer waves on such a beautiful day, and surprised to find it wide open, with Jude behind the register, ringing a sale.

“Oh hey, here’s Avalon now.” He nods. “I was just telling Susan about our new psychic reader, and you walk in on cue.”

Susan turns, looking me over, scrutinizing, accessing, adding up all the parts in her head. Sure she’s aced the equation when she says, “Aren’t you a little—
young
to be giving readings?” She gives me a smug look.

I smile, an awkward slanting of lips, as my gaze darts between them, unsure how to respond, especially with the way Jude’s looking at me.

“Being psychic is a
gift
,” I mumble, nearly choking on the word. Remembering a time, not long ago, when I scoffed at the thought, sure it was anything but. “It’s got nothing to do with age,” I add, watching her aura flicker and flare, knowing I’ve failed to convince her. “You either have it, or you don’t.” I shrug, digging myself a very deep hole.

“So, should I book you a reading?” Jude asks, smiling in a way that’s hard to resist.

But not for Susan. Shaking her head and clutching her bag, she heads for the door, saying, “You just give me a call when Ava comes back.”

The bell clangs loudly as the door closes behind her. “Well, that went well.” I shrug, turning toward Jude and watching him file the receipt before adding, “Is my age going to be a problem here?”

“You sixteen?” he asks, barely glancing at me.

I press my lips together and nod.

“Then you’re old enough to work here. Susan’s a psychic junkie, she won’t resist for long. She’ll be on your sign-up sheet before you know it.”

“Psychic junkie? Is that anything like a groupie?” I follow him to the office in back, noticing he’s wearing the exact same trunks and peace-sign tee as before.

“Can’t make a move without consulting the cards, the stars, what have you.” He nods. “Though I’m guessing you gathered your share of regulars in the course of all the readings you’ve given.” He glances over his shoulder as he opens the door, eyes narrowed, knowing, in a way I can’t miss.

“About that—” I start, figuring I may as well confess since he’s obviously on to me anyway.

But he just turns, hand raised, determined to stop me when he says, “Please, no confessionals.” Smiling and shaking his head. “If I have any hope of enjoying those huge swells out there, then I don’t have the luxury of regretting my decision. Though you might want to rethink that bit about it being a
gift.”

I look at him, surprised to hear him say that since all the psychics I’ve met, which, okay, pretty much consists of just Ava, but still, most of them think it’s most certainly something you’re born with.

“I’m thinking of adding some classes to the schedule, psychic development stuff, maybe even throw in some Wicca as well, and trust me, we’ll get a lot more sign-ups if everyone thinks they have a fair shot.”

“But do they?” I ask, watching as he heads for an extremely messy desk and riffles through a pile of papers near the edge.

“Sure.” He nods, picking up a sheet, looking it over, then shaking his head as he swaps it for another. “Everyone has the potential, it’s just a matter of developing it. With some it comes easy, they couldn’t ignore it if they tried, with others—they have to dig a little deeper to find it. And you? When did you know?”

He looks at me, those sea green eyes meeting mine in a way that makes my stomach dance. I mean, one minute he’s talking abstractedly, thumbing through papers as though he’s barely minding his words, then the next everything stops, his gaze is on mine, and it’s like time has stood still.

I swallow hard, unsure what to say, part of me longing to confess, knowing he’s one of the few who would understand, but the other part resists—Damen’s the only one who knows my story, and I feel like I should keep it that way.

“Just born with it, I guess.” I lift my shoulders, cringing at the way my voice rose at the end. My eyes dart around the room, hoping to avoid the topic as well as his gaze when I add, “So—classes. Who’s teaching those?”

He shrugs, tilting his head in a way that allows his dread-locks to fall into his face. “Guess I will,” he says, pushing them back and revealing the scar on his brow. “It’s something I’ve been wanting to do for a while anyway, but Lina’s always been against it. I figure I may as well take advantage of her not being here to see if it works.”

“Why’s she against it?” I ask, stomach settling when he leans back and props his feet on his desk.

“She likes to keep it simple—books, music, angel figurines, with the occasional reading thrown in. Safe. Benign. Mainstream mysticism where no one gets hurt.”

“And your way? People get
hurt
?” I study him, trying to pinpoint just what it is about him that sets me on edge.

“Not at all. My goal is to empower people, help them live better, more fulfilled lives, by accessing their own intuition, that’s all.” He glances at me, green eyes catching me staring, making my stomach go weird again.

“And Lina doesn’t want to empower people?” I ask, feeling all fluttery under his gaze.

“With knowledge comes power. And since power tends to corrupt, she thinks it’s too big a risk. Even though I’ve got no plans to go anywhere near the dark arts, she’s convinced they’ll find their way in, that the classes I teach will only lead to harder, darker stuff.”

I nod, thinking of Roman and Drina and definitely seeing Lina’s point. Power in the wrong hands is indeed a dangerous thing.

“Anyway, you interested?” He smiles.

My eyes meet his, unsure what he means.

“In teaching a class?”

I balk, wondering if he’s joking or serious, then seeing he’s neither, just putting it out there. “Trust me, I don’t know the first thing about Wicca, or—or any of it really. I’ve no idea how it works. I’m better off just giving the occasional reading, and maybe even trying to organize this mess.” I gesture toward his desk, the shelves, just about every available surface that’s buried beneath a mound of papers and junk.

“I was hoping you’d say that.” He laughs. “Oh, and just so you know, I clocked out the moment you walked in. Gone surfing if anyone asks.” He gets up, moving toward the surfboard leaning against the far wall. “I don’t expect you to get it completely organized or anything, it’s too big a mess. But if you could get it into some kind of order, well—” He nods, looking at me. “You just might get a gold star.”

“I’d rather have a plaque,” I say, pretending to be serious. “You know, something nice that I can hang on the wall. Or even a statuette. Or a trophy—a trophy would be good.”

“How about your own parking space out back? I can probably swing that.”

“Trust me, you already have.” I laugh.

“Yeah, but this one will have your name on it. Reserved for you only. No one will be allowed to park in it, not even off hours. I’ll post a big warning that reads:
CAUTION! THIS SPACE RESERVED FOR AVALON ONLY. ALL OTHERS WILL BE TOWED AWAY AT THEIR OWN EXPENSE.
”

“You’d do that? For reals?” I laugh, eyes meeting his.

He grabs his board, fingers gripping the edge as he heaves it under his arm. “You get this place cleaned up and there’s no limit to the rewards that await you. Today Employee of the Month, tomorrow—” He shrugs, tossing his dreads off his forehead and exposing his amazingly cute face.

Our gazes lock, and I know he’s caught me again—caught me looking—wondering—thinking he’s cute. So I quickly look away, scratching at my arm, fiddling with my sleeve, anything to move past this moment toward something less awkward.

“There’s a monitor in the corner there.” He nods toward the far wall, back to business again. “
That
, combined with the bell on the door, should alert you to anyone coming in when you’re working back here.”

“
That
, the bell on the door, and the fact that I’m
psychic
,” I say, trying to sound lighthearted, though my voice is a little shaky, having not fully recovered from the awkwardness before.

“Like the way you accessed your powers when I snuck up on you?” he asks, smiling in a nice open way, though his eyes are holding back.

“That was different.” I shrug. “You obviously know how to shield your energy. Most people don’t.”

“And
you
know how to shield your aura.” He squints, head cocked to the side, those golden dreadlocks falling halfway down his arm as he focuses in on my right. “But I’m sure we’ll get to that later.”

I swallow hard, pretending not to notice how his vibrant yellow aura goes a little pink at the edges.

“Anyway, it’s all pretty self-explanatory. The files need to be alphabetized, and if you could separate ’em by subject, that’d be great. Oh, and don’t bother tagging the crystals or herbs if you’re not familiar with them, I’d hate to get ’em confused. Though if you
are
familiar—” He smiles, brow raised in such a way I immediately start scratching my arm again.

I gaze at the gleaming piles of crystals, some of which I recognize from the elixirs I made and the amulet I wear at my neck, but most of which are so foreign they’re not even vaguely familiar.

“Do you have a book or something?” I ask, hoping he does since I’d love to learn more about their amazing abilities. “You know, so I can”—
Find a way to sleep with my immortal boyfriend someday
—“so I can get them all tagged properly—and—stuff.” I nod, hoping to appear like a hard worker rather than the self-motivated slacker I am. Watching as he drops his surfboard and turns back toward his desk, shuffling through a pile of books and retrieving a small, thick, well-worn tome from the bottom of the stack.

Turning it over in his hands, and gazing at the back when he says, “This has it all. If a crystal’s not in it, it doesn’t exist. It’s also loaded with pictures so you can identify them. Anyway, it should help,” he adds, tossing it to me.

I catch it between the palms of my hands, its pages vibrating with life as the contents surge through me. The entire book now imprinted on my brain as I smile and say, “Believe me, it already has.”

I stare at the monitor, making sure Jude has left before taking the seat behind the desk and gazing at the pile of crystals. Knowing the book alone wasn’t enough—they need to be handled to be understood. But just as I reach for a large red rock marked by streaks of yellow, my knee knocks against the side of the desk, and my entire body grows itchy and warm—a sure sign that something needs my attention.

I push the chair back and lean forward, peering under the desk, noticing how the sensation grows stronger the lower I go. Following the feeling until I’ve slid off my seat and dropped to the floor, fumbling around for the source, the tips of my fingers growing unbearably hot the second I touch the bottom left drawer.

I lean back on my heels, squinting at the old brass lock—the kind of deterrent meant to keep honest people honest, and dissuade those who don’t know how to manipulate energy like me—closing my eyes as I ease the drawer open, only to find a pile of hanging files that are no longer hanging, an ancient calculator, and a pile of old and yellowed receipts. Just about to close it again when I sense the false bottom beneath.

I scoop up the papers and toss them aside before lifting the hatch and exposing an old, worn, leather-bound tome, its pages curled and fraying like a lost ancient scroll, the words
Book of Shadows
inscribed on its front. I place it onto the desk before me, then sit there and stare. Wondering why someone would go to so much trouble to keep this book hidden—and from
whom
?

Is Lina hiding it from Jude?

Or is it the other way around?

And since there’s only one way to find out, I close my eyes and press my palm to its front, planning to read it in my usual way until I’m slammed by a surge of energy so intense, so frenetic, so chaotic—it practically snap crackles my bones.

I’m hurled backward, my chair hitting the wall with such force it leaves a huge dent. The flickering remnants of random images still quivering before me, and knowing full well why it was hidden—it’s a book of witchcraft and spells. Divinations and incantations. Containing powers so potent it would be completely catastrophic in the wrong hands.

I steady my breath and stare at the cover, calming myself before I attempt to thumb through it. Fingers twitching, touching only the edges, as I peer at a cursive so small it’s nearly impossible to decipher. The bulk of the pages inscribed with all manner of symbols, reminding me of the alchemical journals Damen’s father used to keep—carefully written in code in order to protect the secrets within.

I flip to the middle, taking in a fine, detailed sketch of a group of people dancing under a full moon, followed by those of similar people engaged in complex rituals. Fingers hovering above the scratchy old paper and suddenly knowing deep in my bones that this is no mistake. I was meant to find this book.

Just like Roman hypnotized my classmates and put them all under his spell, all I have to do is weave the right incantation to convince him to divulge the information I need!

I turn the page, eager to find the right one, just as the bell on the shop door rings and I peer at the monitor to confirm it. Unwilling to budge ’til I’m sure they’re not going to turn right around and leave, that they’re truly committed to staying. Watching as the small, slim, black-and-white figure makes her way through the room—nervously glancing over her shoulder as though expecting to find someone there. And just as I’m hoping she’ll leave, she goes straight for the counter, places her hands on the glass, and waits patiently.

Great
. I get up from the desk.
Just what I need—a customer.
Calling, “Can I help you?” before I’ve even had a chance to turn the corner and see that it’s Honor.

The second she sees me she gasps, jaw dropping, eyes widening, appearing almost—
frightened?
The two of us gape at each other, wondering how to move past this.

“Um, do you need something?” I say, voice sounding more confident than I feel, as though I really am in charge around here. Taking in her long dark hair, the recent addition of copper streaks glinting under the lights, realizing I’ve never seen her alone until now. Never once been confronted by her, just the two of us, without Stacia or Craig.

My mind wanders to the book in the back, the one I left on the desk, the one I need to return to immediately, hoping whatever it is that she wants can be handled quickly and easily.

“Maybe I’m in the wrong place.” She pulls her shoulders in, twisting a silver ring around and around as her cheeks spot bright pink. “I think I—” She swallows hard and glances back at the door, motioning awkwardly as she says, “I think I made a mistake, so I’m—I’m just gonna go—”

I watch as she turns, her aura glowing a tremulous gray as she heads for the door. And even though I don’t want to do it, even though I have a potentially life-changing, problem-solving book to return to, I say, “It’s not a mistake.” She stops, shoulders hunched, looking small and diminutive without the aid of her bully friend. “Seriously,” I add. “You meant to come here. And who knows? Maybe I can help.”

She takes a deep breath, pausing for so long I’m about to speak again when she turns. “There’s this guy.” She picks at the hem of her shorts and gazes at me.

“Jude.” Sensing the answer without reading her thoughts or touching her skin, just knowing the moment my eyes meet hers.

“Yeah, um, I guess. Anyway, I um—” She shakes her head and starts again. “Well, I was just wondering if he was here. He gave me this.” She pulls a crumpled piece of paper from her pocket and lays it flat against the glass, smoothing the creases as she peers up at me.

“He’s not here,” I mumble, eyes grazing over the flyer advertising his Psychic Development Class level 1, thinking how he wasted no time. “You want to leave a message? Or sign up?” I study her carefully, never having seen her so shy and uncomfortable before—with the ring twisting, eye darting, knee twitching—and knowing it’s because of me.

She shrugs, gazing down at the counter as though fascinated by the jewelry inside. “No, um, don’t say anything. I’ll just come back some other time.” She takes a deep breath and pulls her shoulders back, trying to summon some of the usual revulsion reserved just for me, but failing miserably.

And even though part of me wants to soothe her, calm her, convince her there’s really no reason to act like this—I don’t. I just watch as she leaves, making sure the door closes behind her before heading back to the book.