He smooths the leather-wrapped steering wheel with his thumbs, going back and forth, forth and back, the movement deliberate, rhythmic, then he says, “I can do everything on your list except that.” He turns, allowing his gaze to bore into mine, looking at me in a way that makes my heart race, my cheeks flush, as my skin begins to tingle and heat. “I can stop chauffeuring you if that’s what you want, but I could never stop worrying about you. I’m afraid that’s just something you’re destined to live with.” He leans toward me, cupping his hands around the sides of my face, his touch so soothing, so calming, his voice low and deep. “So, tonight? Shall we visit our favorite Summerland haunt?”
I press my lips to his, softly, briefly, before pulling away. “I wish. But I think it’s probably better if I take the night off from all that. You know, stay home, pretend to eat dinner, pretend to do my homework, and pretend to be completely normal in every conceivable way so that Sabine can start to relax, find another focus, and get on with her life—which will allow me to finally get on with mine.”
He hesitates, still not convinced of his inability to fix this despite what I’ve said. “And would you like me to come over and pretend to be your perfectly normal boyfriend?” He arches his brow. “I can do a pretty good imitation of that. I’ve played the part many times, had over four hundred years of experience so far.”
I smile, leaning in to kiss him again, longer, deeper this time. Lingering for as long as I can, before pulling away with a sigh. The words hurried, breathless, I say, “Believe me, I’d like nothing more. But Sabine wouldn’t. So for now, I think it’s probably better if you stay away for a while. At least until things calm down and have a chance to sort themselves out. For some strange reason, she’s chosen to focus on you as the number one suspect to blame for my downfall.”
“Maybe because I am.” He looks at me, tracing his finger down the length of my cheek. “Maybe she’s on to something without even realizing it. Ever, when you boil it right down to its very essence, to its very origins, I am the one who caused the change in you.”
I sigh and look away, we’ve had this discussion before, and I’m still not quite willing to see it his way. “You—the near-death experience—” I take a deep breath and turn to him again. “Who’s to say for absolute sure? Besides, it’s not like it matters, it is what it is and there’s no going back.”
He frowns, clearly not willing to take my side but willing to drop it for now. “Okay,” he says, almost as though talking to himself. “Maybe I’ll stop by Ava’s then. The twins started school today and I’m eager to see how it went.”
I balk, trying to imagine Romy and Rayne navigating their way through junior high. Everything they know about modern American teenage life they learned either from my ghostly little sister Riley or reality shows on MTV—not the best sources, for sure.
“Well, hopefully for them it was way more uneventful than ours.” I smile, sliding out of the car and closing the door between us, leaning through the open window when I add, “At any rate, tell them I said hi. Even Rayne. Or, should I say, especially Rayne.” I laugh, knowing how much she dislikes me, and hoping that someday I’ll be able to mend that—but knowing that day is still a long way away.
Watching as he speeds away from the curb, leaving me with a smile that lingers, circling all around me like a hug, before I enter the store on my own, surprised to find it dark and empty, with no one around.
I stand there and squint, allowing a moment for my eyes to adjust, before making my way toward the back. Freezing right there in the office doorway when I find him completely slumped over with his head on his desk.
And the second I see him I can’t help but think: Oh crap—I’m too late!
I mean, just because Haven said she’d spare me for the time being, doesn’t mean she’d extend the same courtesy to Jude.
Though just after I think it, I catch a reassuring glimpse of his aura and immediately relax.
Only living things have auras.
Dead things and immortals do not.
But when I notice the color, the blotchy, dull, brownish-gray haze that surrounds him, I can’t help but think: Oh, crap, all over again.
As far as colors go, his is pretty much at the bottom of the aura rainbow; only black, the color of imminent death, could be worse.
“Jude?” I whisper, my voice so soft and low it’s almost inaudible. “Jude—are you okay?”
He lifts his head so suddenly, so startled by my presence, he knocks over his coffee. Causing a milky brown trail to race across his desk, just about to spill over the side and onto the floor when he stops it with the long, slightly frayed sleeve of his white T-shirt—allowing the liquid to spread into the fabric, leaving a sizable stain.
A stain that reminds me of—
“Ever, I—” He runs his fingers over his tangle of golden-brown dreadlocks, blinking a few times until he’s able to fully focus. “I didn’t hear you come in—you startled me—and—” He sighs, gazing down at the desk and mopping up the rest of the spill with his sleeve. Then, noticing my speechless, wide-eyed gaping, he says, “Trust me, this is nothing. I can either wash it, toss it, or take it to Summerland and cure it.” He shrugs. “A stained T-shirt is the least of my worries right now…”
I lower myself onto the seat just across from him, still shaken by the stain and the new idea it just spawned. Hardly able to believe I was so caught up with training and Haven and all the drama she’s created that I hadn’t even thought of it until now.
“What’s happened?” I ask, forcing myself away from those thoughts and back onto him, though vowing to return to them as soon as I can.
Sensing that something terrible has happened and assuming it’s more threats from Haven, when he says, “Lina’s gone.” The words simple, stark, though the meaning is clear.
I look at him, eyes wide, mouth open, but unable to speak and unsure what to say if I could.
“Her van crashed in Guatemala, on the way to the airport. She didn’t make it.”
“Are you…sure?” I ask, immediately regretting the words. It was a dumb thing to say, when it’s so obvious that he is. But that’s what bad news does—it creates unreasonable denial and doubt, prompting a search for hope in places where there clearly is none.
“Yeah, I’m sure.” He wipes his eyes with his dry sleeve, gaze clouded with the memory of when he first heard. “I saw her.” His eyes meet mine. “We had a pact, you know? We promised each other that whoever went first would stop by and tell the other. And the second she appeared before me—” He pauses, his voice tired, hoarse, prompting him to clear his throat and begin again. “Well, the way she just glowed, the way she looked so…radiant… there was no mistaking it. I knew she’d moved on.”
“Did she say anything?” I ask, wondering if she decided to cross the bridge or stay behind in Summerland, since, unlike me, Jude can communicate with spirit in all of its forms.