“She still at it?”
I nod and roll my eyes.
“You sure I can’t talk to her? Maybe it’ll help.”
“Forget it.” I shake my head, wishing he’d just back up the car already and get me out of this place. “There’s no reasoning with her—she’s completely unreasonable and, trust me, your trying to talk to her will only make it worse.”
“Worse than the evil eye she just shot me from her perch at the window?” He glances between the rearview mirror and me as he backs down the drive, his lip curling in a way that’s a little more playful than I’d like.
This is serious.
I’m serious.
And even though it may not be all that serious to him, it’s still a pretty big deal to me.
But when I look at him again, I decide to let it go and cut him some slack. Reminding myself how the sheer breadth of his years, the expanse of his six centuries’ worth of living, has left him more or less unfazed by the smaller, everyday dramas that always seem to take up so much space.
As far as Damen sees it, pretty much everything other than me slips into the “not worth the bother” category. To the point where it seems like the only thing he really cares about these days, the only thing he really focuses on, even more than finding an antidote so that we can finally be together after four hundred years of waiting, is protecting my soul from the Shadowland. As far as he’s concerned, everything else just pales in comparison.
And even though I really do get the big pictureness of it all, I can’t stop caring about the “smaller” stuff as well.
And, unfortunately for Damen, the best way for me to make sense of it and sort it all out in my head, is to discuss it over and over again.
Believe me, you were spared, and spared big time. Had you insisted on coming in, it would’ve been way worse than that. The words coursing from my mind to his as I gaze out the windshield before me, amazed to see how unbelievably bright, hot, and sunny the day already is, even though it’s only a few minutes past eight in the morning. And I can’t help but wonder if I’ll ever get used to this—if I’ll ever stop comparing my new life in Laguna Beach, California, to the one I left behind in Eugene, Oregon.
If I’ll ever be able to stop looking back.
My thoughts returning to the subject when Damen squeezes my knee and says, “Don’t worry, she’ll come around.”
But even though his voice is confident, his expression tells otherwise. His words were based way more on hope than conviction—his desire to ease my mind easily trumps his desire for truth. Because the fact is, if Sabine hasn’t come around by now, then it’s highly doubtful she ever will, or at least not anytime soon.
“You know what bugs me the most?” I say, knowing he does, he’s heard it before, but continuing anyway. “It’s, like, no matter what I tell her, no matter how many times I try to prove it to her by reading her mind, and revealing all kinds of odd little nuggets about her past, present, and future that I couldn’t possibly know if I wasn’t psychic—it doesn’t make a dent. In fact, it seems like it does just the opposite. Just convinces her to dig her heels in even deeper, absolutely refusing to consider any of my arguments, or anything else I have to say on the matter. She completely refuses to crack open her mind just the tiniest bit. Instead, she just shoots me that grim, judgmental look of hers, totally convinced that I’m faking, making the whole thing up in some big, pathetic bid for attention. Like I’ve totally and completely lost my mind.” I shake my head and tuck my long blond hair back behind my ears, as my cheeks warm and flush. This is the part that really gets me going, leaves me all red faced and agitated every single time. “Even after I asked her why on earth I’d waste so much time and effort working that hard to keep my abilities a secret if I was only interested in the attention they’d get me—even after I begged her to listen to her own stupid argument so she could see how it doesn’t make even the slightest bit of sense—she still refused to budge. I mean, she actually accused me of fraud!” I close my eyes and frown, remembering the moment so clearly it’s as though it’s happening right here before me.
Sabine barging into my room the morning after Roman died, the morning after I’d lost all hope of ever truly being with Damen, of ever getting the antidote. Not even giving me a chance to fully wake up, wash my face, brush my teeth, and prepare myself in some way.
Confronting me in a blaze of self-righteous fury, her blue eyes narrowed on mine, as she said, “Ever, don’t you think you owe me an explanation for last night?”
I shake my head and clear the image from my mind. My gaze meeting Damen’s when I say, “Because according to her, there is no such thing as psychic powers, extrasensory perception, or anything else of the sort. According to her, no one can see into the future. It’s just a bogus claim made by a bunch of money-grubbing, unscrupulous, charlatan frauds like me! And I’ve been willfully engaging in fraud from the moment I took money for my first psychic reading. And, in case you didn’t know, there are legal ramifications for that sort of thing, which, of course, she then took the pleasure of listing for me.” I look at Damen, as wide-eyed and agitated as the first time I told the story. “So last night, when she had the nerve to bring it up yet again, I asked her if she could recommend a good attorney, seeing that I was headed for such big trouble and all.” I roll my eyes, remembering how badly that went over.
My fingers nervously picking at the short hem of my white cotton dress as I balance my open bottle of elixir on my knee. Telling myself to calm down, to just let it go, we’ve been over this a gazillion times already and it only serves to make me more wound up than before.
Gazing out the window as Damen slows to a stop, allowing an older woman carrying a surfboard in one hand and a dog leash with a yellow Lab attached in the other, to make their way past. The dog reminding me so much of my old dog, Buttercup, with his wagging tail, shiny yellow coat, happy brown eyes, and cute pink nose, I actually do a double take, as that old, familiar pang curls its way through my gut—a constant reminder of all that I’ve lost.
“Did you remind her that she’s the one who introduced you to Ava, which inadvertently led you to the job at Mystics and Moonbeams?” Damen says, bringing me back to the present as his foot switches from the brake to the gas.
I nod, peering into my side-view mirror, watching the dog’s reflection shrink smaller and smaller. “I mentioned it last night, and you know what she said?”
I look at him, allowing the scene to stream from my mind to his. Sabine at the kitchen counter, a pile of vegetables waiting to be washed and diced before her—me in my running gear determined to get out of the house without a hassle for a change—both of our tasks coming to a screeching, slamming halt when she decided to go for round fifteen in the never-ending battle of her versus me.
“She said it was a joke. A party thing. Meant for entertainment purposes only. That it was never meant to be taken seriously.” I roll my eyes and shake my head.
About to say something more, not even close to the finish, when he looks at me and says, “Ever, if I’ve learned nothing else in my six hundred years of living, it’s that people hate change almost as much as they hate for their beliefs to be challenged. Seriously. Just look at what happened to my poor friend, Galileo. He was completely ostracized for having the audacity to support Copernicus’s theory that the earth wasn’t the center of the universe. To the point where he was tried, found suspect of heresy, forced to recant, and then spent the rest of his life under house arrest, when, of course, as we all know, he was right all along. So, when you think about it, compared to that, I’d say you’re getting off pretty easy.” He laughs, giving me a look that practically begs me to lighten up and laugh too, but I’m just not there yet. Someday I may find this funny, but that day exists in a far-away future I cannot yet see.
“Believe me,” I say, placing my hand over his, aware of the energy veil dancing
between us. “She tried the whole house arrest angle, but no way was I going for it. I mean, it’s really unfair how I’m supposed to just automatically accept her and the black-and-white world she chooses to live in, and yet, she won’t even give me a chance to explain myself. Won’t even consider my side of things. She just automatically pegs me as some crazy, needy, overly emotional teen because I just so happen to have abilities that don’t fit into her close-minded views. And sometimes it makes me so mad I just—” I pause, pressing my lips tightly together, unsure if I should actually allow myself to really voice it out loud.
Damen looks at me, waiting.