But I just nod toward Honor, seeing the way she’s stopped, the way she’s turned, her head tilted, gaze full of questions, wavering between two supposed best friends, neither of whom she particularly likes.
Hesitating for so long that Haven storms off in a huff. And even though I’m tempted to go after her, tempted to try to calm her, find a way to help her or at least talk some sense into her, I don’t. Maybe later I will, but not now. For now I’ve got to see this thing through.
I nudge Stacia, nudge her with my eyes, with my mind, shoving my energy up against hers, urging her to keep going, to not stop now, even though the territory may seem scary and unfamiliar.
And a moment later, they’re gone.
Walking side by side, Honor shouting, hurling the long list of accusations, all the very good reasons why Stacia should apologize, while Stacia patiently listens, just like I coached her to do.
“Are you eavesdropping?” Miles says, elbowing me and pointing toward them.
“Should I?” I look at him.
“Well, yeah.” He squints. “I mean, what if it’s not what you think? What if they’re both plotting against you?”
But I just smile, watching Stacia’s aura shift and change, becoming just a bit more vibrant with each passing step. Knowing she still has a long way to go, that she may never really arrive, but still secure in the knowledge that auras never lie. And hers is off to a semi-decent start.
Taking a sip of my elixir and looking at Miles when I say, “Trust works both ways. Aren’t you the one who told me that?”
thirty-one
Even though it shows all the signs of turning into an insanely uncomfortable situation, Damen still insists on going to Mystics and Moonbeams. And this time, just before we climb out of my car and head in, I’m the one who questions him on whether or not he truly wants to go through with it.
But he just looks at me and says, “Ever, for four hundred years we’ve been circling each other. Don’t you think it’s finally time to call for a cease-fire?”
I nod, not doubting for a minute that it is indeed time, though I’m not at all sure that Jude will agree. It’s a lot easier to be logical and reasonable about these things when you’re the one on the winning team.
He holds the door open as I make my way in. Spotting a few familiar customers milling about—the woman who collects angel figurines, the guy who’s always bugging us to get an aura video station, even though from what I’ve seen of his, he’s bound to be disappointed by the results, and the older woman with the beautiful purple glow all around her who Ava’s currently assisting with the meditation CDs—while Jude sits behind the counter, taking small sips of coffee. His aura flaring the moment he sees us—especially Damen—though it’s not long before it settles and calms, and I sigh in relief. Knowing
it was just the result of an age-old, knee-jerk reaction, the kind that may require some time to phase out, but someday, if Damen has his way, it will.
He moves ahead of me, eager to get this thing started. Making straight for the counter with a ready smile and a softly spoken “Hey,” as Jude takes another sip of his coffee and merely nods in reply. His gaze dancing between us, apprehensive and unsure, and I really hope he doesn’t think we came here to gloat.
“I was wondering if we could maybe talk.” Damen motions toward the back. “Somewhere private, perhaps?”
Jude hesitates for a moment, taking a series of slow contemplative sips, before tossing his cup and leading us into his office. Settling himself behind the old wood desk, while Damen and I claim the two seats on the opposite side.
I watch as Damen leans forward, his gaze intent, face earnest, determined to get right to the point when he says, “I’m guessing you really must hate me by now.”
But if Jude’s surprised by the words, he doesn’t show it. He just shrugs, leans back in his seat, and rests his hands flat against his stomach. His fingers splayed across the colorful mandala symbol that blazes across his white tee.
“And it’s not that I’d blame you if you did,” Damen says, eyes steady, focused on Jude. “Because I’ve no doubt committed my share of hateful acts over the last—” He glances briefly at me, still unused to voicing it out loud, even though he finds himself doing so more and more these days. “Over the last six hundred and some odd years.” He sighs.
Both of us watching as Jude tilts his seat back as far as it will go, taking a moment to gaze up at the ceiling, pushing his fingers into a steeple, before the whole thing collapses and he drops forward again, his gaze boring into Damen’s when he says, “Dude, seriously, what’s that about?”
Damen squints, as I shift uncomfortably in my seat. This was a bad idea. We never should’ve come here like this.
But Jude just leans forward, sliding his elbows across his desk, pushing his dreadlocks off his face as he adds, “Really, what’s that like?”
Damen nods, making some kind of sound between a grunt and a laugh, instantly relaxing as the tension drains from his face and he settles farther back in his seat. Propping his foot on his knee, snapping the bottom of his flip-flop back and forth against his heel, he shrugs and says, “Well, I guess you could say it’s been—” He pauses, searching for just the right word. “Long.” He laughs, eyes creasing at the sides. “It’s been…really, really long, in fact.”
Jude looks at him, nodding in a way that shows he wants to hear more, and Damen obliges, picking at the frayed and broken hem on his faded old jeans, when he adds, “And, to be honest, well, sometimes it’s a little exhausting. And sometimes it feels more than a little defeating—especially when you’re forced to watch the same old tired mistakes being made over and over again with the same lousy excuses to support them.” He shakes his head, lost in a stream of memories most people only learn about through history books. His expression instantly transforming, brightening, when he smiles and says, “And those are just the mistakes I’ve made.” He meets Jude’s gaze. “But then, there are also moments of such extreme beauty and joy that, well, it really does make it all seem worthwhile, you know?”
Jude nods, more in contemplation than agreement, as though he’s still taking it in, considering the statement.
Though it’s enough to prompt Damen to say, “Why, you interested? You want to give it a go?”
Jude and I both look at him, eyes wide, unable to tell if he’s serious.