Knowing I need to finish the thought before they both come to some horrible conclusion, one that’l bring us ful circle again, I say,
“What I meant was, do you real y have to leave? Now?” Ugh. I rol my eyes at myself. What the heck is wrong with me? Bad to worse doesn’t even begin to describe it, and, unfortunately, Jude seems to agree.
“Wel , I thought I’d leave you to your privacy, maybe explore a bit, meet up with Romy, Rayne, and Ava.” He shrugs, the gesture showing the ful state of discomfort I’ve put him in.
“They’re here?” I glance al around though I don’t expect to find them. It’s more an attempt to get ahold of myself than anything else.
Jude shoots me an odd look, though he’s quick to chase it with: “No, they’re back on the earth plane, why?” His brow drops, his mouth flattens. “Ever—what’s this about?”
Damen’s energy radiates beside me, and I know he’s thinking the same thing. So I take a deep breath, take a moment to careful y meet each of their gazes as I force the words from my lips. “Listen, I’ve got a little … research project I’m working on. And, since I’ve only got one week to get to the bottom of it,” I shoot Damen a pointed look, “I thought, wel , if you don’t mind, I, I mean, we—” My gaze holds onto Damen’s, pretty much begging him to trust me on this. “Wel , in light of the time constraints and the insights you shared, I thought we could real y use your help. I think your perspective could come in real y, real y handy. But of course, it’s up to you…”
Jude glances at us, weighing, considering, choosing to address his words to me when he says, “Fine. I’m in. It’s the least I can do for bungling the whole thing with Haven and just about everything else where you’re concerned. So tel me, where do we begin?”
five
I slide in beside Damen, my left knee pressed snugly against his right. The sight of it shielded by the thick wooden tabletop, sparing Jude from the view. No need to rub his nose in it. Make him feel any worse than he already does.
Stil , it’s not long before he rises from his place just across from us, mumbling something about a new tact he’d like to try, something that just sprang to mind. Though despite the excuse, it’s pretty clear he’s looking for escape, longing to go somewhere else, somewhere offering less proximity to Damen and me.
I peer at the large crystal globe that hovers before Damen, trying to make out the images it unfolds. But from this angle al I get is a colorful blur. To real y see it, you need to sit directly in front of it. Stil , I can tel by the way Damen observes it, shoulders slumped, head bent forward ever so slightly, breath coming steady and slow, that whatever he’s watching, it’s nothing of interest, nothing that’l lead us to the info we need. In fact, if anything, it appears to be lul ing him to sleep.
Frowning at the tablet before me that’s providing about as much hope as Damen’s globe, I push it away in disgust and glance al around. Desperate for a little help, from someone, or something—I’m not at al picky, I’l take what I can get at this point, but no help appears. Everyone remains immersed in their business, their own personal quest, paying no notice of me. And despite my closing my eyes, despite the stream of questions that flows from my mind, despite my obvious plea for assistance that rings loud and clear, the Great Hal s make no attempt to address it, no attempt to whisk me away to just the right room like it’s done so many times before.
Other than granting admittance, the Great Hal s of Learning seem to be ignoring me today.
I try to sit stil , try to concentrate, meditate, go to that nice quiet space—but I’m too restless, too agitated, and I can’t seem to focus.
My mind storming with the kind of thoughts that make it impossible to find any peace. I mean, how am I supposed to relax and concentrate on the flow of each passing breath, when I’m al too aware of the ticking clock that practical y hangs over my head? A constant reminder of just how rapidly my one-week deadline is shrinking, inching closer to the end.
Peeking once again at Damen’s globe spinning before him, I can’t help but feel glum, defeated, al owing my mind to travel to a place I’d prefer that it didn’t.
A place of doubt.
Second-guessing.
Extreme reservation.
The part that wants to believe, quickly overruled by the question of which would be worse: to be right about my hunch—or total y wrong in every way?
Would it be better to be solely responsible for the appearance of the murky part of Summerland—to be the object of the crazy old lady’s hope as wel as her scorn?
Or is it better to be way off base about it al , dead wrong in every sense? Which, in essence, would lighten my load and free me of the burden, the huge responsibility of it al .
What if that old lady real y is just some demented Summerland interloper like Damen claims?
What if the dream I was sure Riley sent bears no greater meaning than the one Damen’s already convinced of—a pathetic cry from my subconscious for more attention from him?
What if I’m just wasting our time? Misusing a week that could be much better spent?
And, even worse, what if I’m acting just selfish enough to drag Jude into it too, when it’s so painful y obvious how uncomfortable it is for him to be around Damen and me?
I swal ow hard and glance at Damen, knowing it’s time to cry uncle, time to manifest a duffle bag stuffed with al the usual vacation essentials so that we can scram out of here and head off to whatever destination he wants. Just because we have an eternity together doesn’t mean I should so wil ingly waste even a few days of it. But first, there’s just one last thing I want to try, and I’l need to go to the pavilion to do it.
He meets my gaze, those dark, hea
vily lashed, almond-shaped eyes staring right into mine, his lips parting in a way that prompts me to lean toward him, placing my hand on his arm when I say, “Damen, I have an idea.”
His globe halts, vanishes, and by the look in his eye, he’s clearly relieved to be free of it.