I shake my head, gaze narrowed as I try to think of a snappy reply. My thoughts interrupted by Haven who says, “You’re doing it again.” She crosses her arms and glances between us. “You know, your whole, weird, pseudo telepathy thing.”
“Who even cares about that?” Miles screeches. “Damen’s driving a bus!” He hooks his thumb over his shoulder, jabbing toward the big, black monstrosity and wincing at the sight of it.
“Is it a bus or a mom car?” Haven squints, shielding her eyes from the sun. Glancing at each of us. “Whatever it is, one thing’s for sure, it’s tragically middle-aged.”
Miles nods, fully warmed up to the subject now. “First the glove and now this?” He frowns at Damen, disappointment clouding his face. “I have no idea what you’re up to, but dude, you are seriously losing your edge. You’re not even close to the rock star you were when you first came to this school.”
I glance at him, eyes narrowed in silent agreement. But Damen just laughs, too concerned with the proper care and feeding of the twins to bother with what anyone thinks—including me. And while that’s obviously the way a good, responsible, parental-type figure should think, something about it really bugs me.
Miles and Haven continue, teasing Damen about his new, surprisingly stodgy ways, as I tag along, a sliver of energy pulsating between us as he grabs my hand and thinks, What’s going on? Why are you acting like this? Is this because of the cat? I thought you understood all of that?
I stare straight ahead, focused on Miles and Haven, sighing loudly as I mentally reply: It’s not the cat. We settled that yesterday. She’s back at Haven’s, marking her days. It’s just—well, it’s like, here I am, making myself crazy, trying to find a solution so we can be together, and all you seem to care about is manifesting HDTVs and the world’s ugliest babyproof car so you can cart the twins around town! I shake my head, knowing I need to stop, before I go any further and really have something to regret.
“Everything’s changing,” I say, not realizing I said it out loud until the words ring in my ears. “And I’m sorry if I’m acting like a brat, but I’m just so frustrated that we can’t be together in the way that we want. And I miss you. I miss you so bad I can’t stand it.” I pause, eyes stinging, throat hot and tight, threatening to close up completely. “And now that the twins are living with you, and with my new job starting and all, well, it’s like, we’re suddenly thrust into this super stressful, middle-aged life. And trust me, seeing your new car just now didn’t help.” I peer at him, thinking there’s no way I’m riding in that thing. Instantly ashamed when I see him looking at me with such love and compassion I can’t help but fold. “I guess I was hoping this summer would be great, you know? I was hoping we could have some fun—just the two of us. But now it’s not looking so good. And, just to top things off, did I even mention that Sabine is dating Munoz? My history teacher? This Friday night, dinner at eight!” I scowl, hardly believing this pathetic life actually belongs to a supposedly powerful, newly immortal, almost seventeen-year-old girl.
“You got a job?” He stops in place as his eyes search mine.
“Out of everything I just said that’s what you’re focusing on?” I shake my head and pull him along, laughing in spite of myself.
But he just looks at me, gaze fixed on mine as he says, “Where?”
“Mystics and Moonbeams.” I shrug, watching Miles and Haven wave as they turn down the hall and head for class.
“Doing what?” he asks, not ready to drop it just yet.
“Retail stuff, mainly.” I gaze at him. “You know, working the register, restocking shelves, giving readings, stuff like that.” I shrug, hoping he won’t pay much notice to that last part.
Psychic readings? He gapes, stopping just shy of our classroom.
I nod, staring longingly as my classmates spill through the door, preferring to join them than having to finish what I started.
“Do you think that’s smart? Drawing that kind of attention to yourself?” Back to talking again now that we’re alone in the hall.
“Probably not.” I shrug, knowing it’s most definitely not. “But Sabine insists the discipline and stability will do me some good. Or so she says. She just wants to keep tabs on me. And short of installing a nanny cam, this is the easiest, least invasive way. She even had this horrible, soul-sucking, nine-to-five gig all set up and ready to go, so when Jude said he needed some help around the store, well, I didn’t have much choice but to—what?” I pause, seeing the look on his face, eyes guarded, hard to read.
“Jude?” His eyes narrowing to where I can just barely see them. “I thought you said someone named Lina owned the store.”
“Lina does own the store. Jude’s her grandson,” I say, only that’s not entirely true. “Well, he’s not her real grandson, it’s more like, she looks after him. Helped raise him after he ran away from his last foster home—or—whatever.” I shake my head. The last thing I wanted was to start a conversation about Jude, especially with the way Damen’s gone high alert. “I thought it might help, you know, allow unlimited access to books and things that might help us. Besides, it’s not like I’m working there under my real name. I’m using an alias.”
“Let me guess.” He peers into my eyes, seeing the answer displayed in my thoughts. “Avalon. Cute.” He smiles, but only briefly before he’s gone serious again. “But you know how it works, right? It’s not like a confessional where you’re shielded by a screen. People expect face-to-face contact. They want to see you to know whether or not they can trust you. So what exactly are you planning to do when someone you know just happens to walk in for an impromptu tarot card reading? Did you even think about that?”
I frown, wondering why he has to take what I thought was a pretty good deal and turn it into a problem. And I’m just about to deliver some snappy reply, say something like: Hello? I’m psychic. I’ll know before they even get through the door! when Roman appears.
Roman and—someone else—someone vaguely familiar—someone named Marco who was last seen in a vintage Jaguar, pulling up to his house.
Walking side by side, legs moving swiftly, eyes focused on mine. Roman’s gaze taunting, mocking, the proud owner of my dirty little secret.
Damen moves to shield me, gaze on Roman as he thinks: Stay calm. Don’t do a thing. I’ll handle this.
I peer over his shoulder, watching as Roman and Marco barrel toward us like an oncoming train. Gazing at me with eyes so deep, so blue, everything blurs but his moist grinning lips and flashing Ouroboros tattoo. And the last thing I think, before I’m sucked in completely, is that this is my fault. If I’d kept my promise to Damen and stayed away from him, I wouldn’t be facing this now.
His energy swirls toward me, tugging, pulling, luring me in, sucking me into a spiral of darkness, bombarding me with images of Damen—the tainted antidote—my ill-advised visit—Haven—Miles—Florence—the twins—all of it coming so quickly I can barely distinguish between them. But the individual images themselves aren’t important—it’s the whole he wants me to see. All of it meant to illustrate one single thing: Roman’s in charge now—the rest of us are just puppets, pulled by his strings.
“Mornin’, mates!” he sings, releasing me from his grip as my body falls limp against Damen’s.
But despite his sweet murmurings as he ushers me away from Roman and into the room, despite the soft reassurances intended to soothe, convinced that we’ve just dodged a bullet and it’s over for now, I happen to know it’s only begun.
More is coming.
There’s no doubt.
Roman’s next shot is aimed solely at me.
CHAPTER 20
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.