A long convoluted list of herbs, potions, crystals, and … moon phases …
I gasp, eyes wide with disbelief, gaping at Damen, wondering if he hears what I hear, understands what, for me, just became clear.
It’s the antidote!
Roman is wil ingly, without being asked, bul ied, manipulated, or tortured, holding up his end of the deal.
The one we struck just minutes before he was kil ed and sent here.
The one where I agreed to give him what he wanted most, in exchange for what I wanted most.
Drina for the antidote that’l al ow Damen and me to be together in the way that we were as Alrik and Adelina—with no need for energy shields, no fear of our DNA clashing, no threat of Damen dying.
Roman’s making good on his word.
Taking a moment to repeat it once more, make sure that we got it, took note of it, committed it to memory, because he’l soon be moving on, with Drina by his side, and he doesn’t expect to see us again, or at least not for a very long time. This is our last chance. The opportunity won’t come again.
I gulp, nod, brimming with so much gratitude, so overcome with happiness, my eyes sting, my throat swel s, and I’ve no idea where to start, what to say.
But I don’t have to say anything. He and Drina have already joined hands, already turned away. Already headed to the next cube where, having no further need of us, they pool their energy in a way that splits it wide open, al owing Haven to burst out of her own personal hel .
She shoots straight for me. An angry bal of raging red energy that, from al appearances, is stil furious with me.
Stil blames me.
Stil intends to make good on her last spoken words—her threat to undo me.
Damen shouts, jumps between us, his arms spread wide, doing his best to cover me, to defend me from whatever she’s planned.
But just as she reaches us, hovering a mere razor’s width away, she stops, slows, and I watch, eyes wide with wonder, as the furious red glow of her simmers into a much softer rose-toned pink. Shifting between al of the personas of her previous lives, beginning with my cousin, Esme’s sister, Fiona, before transitioning into several more I vaguely recognize from scenes I’ve viewed of my past incarnations. Amazed to learn she’s been with me al this time, usual y from a distance, never as a close frien
d or even a sister, but stil , wow, I had no idea.
I start to apologize, want her to know how deeply sorry I am, but she’s far too impatient, and quickly waves it away. There’s stil more to show me, she’s not quite through yet, and I watch as she transitions into al of the guises she wore in her most recent life. Everything from her prima bal erina phase, to her J. Crew preppy phase, to the goth phase she was in back when we first met, to the short-lived Drina-wannabe phase that fol owed, to the emo phase that came shortly after, to the black leather and lace rock ’n’ rol gypsy look that didn’t last long before transitioning into her super-scary immortal witch phase, as Miles once cal ed it—the one her life ended with—until final y settling upon a version of herself I’ve never seen before. One where her hair is long and shiny and wel cared for, her eyes clear and bright, her clothing slightly edgy, Haven-like, but not crying out for attention or in-your-face angry. But the biggest change of al is the radiant smile that lights up her face, tel ing me she’s final y found herself—final y at peace.
Final y likes who she is.
Jabbing her thumb between Damen, Roman, and Drina, a love triangle that spanned way too many centuries, she shakes her head, rol s her eyes, and lets out a long wistful sigh that soon turns into a contagious laugh I can’t fight. The two of us giggling in a way that reminds me of better days spent with Miles at the lunch table, lazy afternoons holed up in her room with a stash of magazines piled high between us, Friday nights hanging in my Jacuzzi after having devoured an entire pizza.
Her focus shifted back to me when she thinks: I don’t hate you. Though I’m not gonna lie, I used to. And not just in that last life, but in most of the others as well. But that’s only because I was so unhappy with myself, I was sure that everyone else had it better, had what I needed. I was sure that if I could only claim what they had, then I could be happy too. She shakes her head, rol s her eyes at the absolute fol y of it. Anyway, you’ll be glad to know that’s all over now. I’m free in more ways than one. Now I’m just looking forward to whatever comes next.
I swal ow hard and nod, her words pretty much the opposite of what I’d prepared for, which makes them even more welcome. Ones I won’t soon forget.
And then, the next thing I know, Drina points, Haven squeals, Roman grins, and they al join hands, the three of them rushing toward something viewable only to them, disappearing into a bril iant flash of white light without once looking back.
twenty-five
Damen pul s me into his arms, grasps me tightly to him, then lifts me into the air and swings me around. My hair swirling behind me like a shiny gold cape as we twirl and spin and dance and laugh, gazing in wonder as this once-barren field begins to transform itself.
The jagged shards of prison glass sinking deep into the ground—recycling first into sand, then into a rich dark soil that provides instant nourishment for the formerly burned-out trees. Al owing them to straighten and stretch, to sprout a thick blanket of leaves, as a swath of purple and yel ow wildflowers bloom at their roots.
The two of us overcome with excitement, brimming with the glee of our triumph, Damen’s voice like a song in my ear when he says,
“We did it! We freed them—made amends—we even secured the recipe for the antidote, and it’s al because of you!” His lips find my forehead, my cheek, my nose, and my ear, then pul ing away, he adds, “Ever, do you realize what this al means?”
I look at him, my grin so wide my cheeks are stretched to their limits, but stil wanting to hear him say it, wanting to hear the words spoken out loud for both of us to hear.
“It means we can final y be together.” He stops, presses his forehead to mine, his breath coming fast and quick. “It means al of our problems are solved. It means that we’l never have to visit the pavilion again—not even as Alrik and Adelina—unless, of course, we want to.” He wiggles his brow, emits a low, deep laugh. “Al we have to do is head back to the earth plane, get working on the brew, and…” He pauses, smooths his thumb over my cheek, then leans in to kiss me again.