I dodge an overturned chair, scoot around a set of truly hideous, green paisley cushions pulled from the small love seat that’s shoved in the corner, pausing long enough for Damen to remove an emptied file cabinet from my path, before we make for a desk that’s almost as littered as the floor, covered in a mess of papers, and cups, and books, and debris so thick you can barely make out the fine inlaid wood underneath. The two of us pilfering through every last drawer, every last nook, until we’re sure it’s not here—convinced it’s not hidden anywhere.
Damen stands beside me, wearing an expression that’s closer to resolve than disappointment, since he never allowed himself to believe we might find it so easily. And even though he makes to leave, I’m not quite ready to join him. I can’t seem to keep from staring at the small wine fridge in the corner—its plug pulled, its door not just left open but hanging haphazardly off its hinges.
A small, innocuous fridge with nothing special about it, except for the fact that I’m sure it was once filled with elixir, though I’ve no idea who might’ve emptied it.
Was it Misa and Marco, who were last seen hopping a fence with two duffle bags filled with stolen juice?
Was it Rafe, who, well, I haven’t seen in so long I have no idea if he’s even still around?
Or was it Haven, who, from what I’ve seen anyway, seems to have developed a serious elixir addiction problem?
And, even more importantly, does it really matter anyway, considering my only real concern here is obtaining the shirt?
Damen nudges me, ready to move on. And since there’s no reason to stay, nothing to be gained here, I take one last look around, making sure I haven’t missed anything, then follow him out the door, the two of us slipping out just as quickly and covertly as we came.
No closer to obtaining what we need, though more assured than ever that we’re definitely getting closer, definitely making progress of some sort.
Haven’s world isn’t just showing signs of wear—it’s also starting to crumble all around her. And now it’s just a matter of time until she either reaches out for help or completely self-destructs.
Either way, I intend to be there.
thirty-four
Since the store ended up being such a complete and total bust, I drop Damen at his house so that he can help Miles rehearse, then decide to head home so I can regroup and hopefully come up with a new plan of attack. Feeling more determined than ever to locate that shirt, especially now that Damen and I are so solidly back on track.
I pull into the garage, heaving an immediate sigh of relief when I see that it’s empty. Sabine’s vacant space signaling that she’s either still at work or out with Munoz, and knowing that either way it allows me the promise of an empty house, some much needed time on my own, and a few hours of calm and peaceful, non-arguing silence, which is exactly what I need before I head out again.
And I’ve just walked through the side door and am about to make my way up the stairs to my room when it hits me:
A cold blast of energy.
The effect so stinging and frigid it could mean only one thing:
I’m not nearly as alone as I’d thought.
I spin on my heel, not the least bit surprised to find Haven standing behind me. Her body fidgety, twitchy, her formerly beautiful face reduced to a shockingly pale arrangement of sunken cheekbones, a sharply angled nose, grim shrunken lips, and eyes so narrowed and hollowed and red, it’s like gazing upon a crime scene photo.
Her lips twisting in a way so gruesome, it instantly transforms her into a vision even more lurid than she was just a moment ago. Scowling at me when she says, “Where is it, Ever?”
And suddenly I know exactly who dismantled the fridge in the store.
Know exactly what she’s here for.
Misa and Marco broke into her house to steal her elixir—it all makes sense now.
Roman never passed on the recipe, and without him, the rogues’ supply is cut off. And now it’s only a matter of time before their powers dwindle, and ultimately their youth and beauty are lost.
I’m Haven’s only hope of retaining her new powers.
Her new life.
Still, it’s not like I’m about to make it easy on her. Not when this could turn out to be just the solution I need.
She wants something I have—and I want something she has. So, under the circumstances, that leaves me pretty well positioned to broker some kind of deal.
I’ll just have to tread carefully, cautiously. I can’t afford to alert her to the true significance of the shirt, just in case she hasn’t realized it yet.
Lifting my shoulders casually, I say, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Then I smile, stalling for time, trying to get a better read on her as I formulate a plan in my mind.