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.”
“Yes, but the difference is, you and I won’t let them.” He smiles, eyes practically begging me to lighten up and smile too. “We’ll teach them all the magick they’ll need to gain their inde pen dence and get by on their own. Then we’ll send ’em off and wish ’em well and go somewhere on our own.”
And the way he smiles, the way he gazes into my eyes and smooths my hair off my face makes it impossible to stay mad, impossible to waste any more time on a topic like this when my body’s so close to his.
“Five years is nothing, when you’ve already lived for six hundred,” he says, lips at my cheek, my neck, my ear.