Shadowland (Immortals 3)

I mean, it’s not like I went looking for this—right?

Right?

But even though my heart knows the truth, I can’t help but wonder just what we once meant to each other.

Did I really emerge from a lake not caring if he saw the nude me? Or was that portrait taken straight from his overactive imagination?

Which only leads me to more questions—ones I’d prefer to ignore, like:

Was I not really a virgin for the last four hundred years like I thought?

Did I actually sleep with Jude and not Damen?

And if so, is that why I feel so shy and weird around him now?

I gaze at the empty field before me, turning it into the Roman Coliseum, the Egyptian Pyramids, the Acropolis in Athens, the Grand Bazaar in Istanbul, the Opera House in Sydney, St. Mark’s Square in Venice, the Medina in Marrakech—watching the scenery whirl and change, becoming all the places I hope to visit someday, knowing only one thing for sure:

I’ve got three months.

Three months without Damen.

Three months of knowing he’s out there, somewhere, but unable to touch him, access him, be with him again.

Three months in which to learn enough magick to solve all our problems and get him back for good.

Knowing more than I’ve ever known anything—that he alone is my future, my destiny, no matter what came before.

I focus back on the scenery, the Grand Canyon morphing into Machu Picchu, which becomes the Great Wall of China, knowing there’s plenty of time for this later, but for now, I’ve got to go back.

Back to the earth plane.

Back to the store.

Hoping to catch Jude before he closes up shop, needing him to teach me, once and for all, how to read that book.

thirty-three

All week I avoided Sabine. I didn’t think it was possible, but between school, my new job, and Miles’s final Hairspray per formance, I was pretty much scot-free until the moment I’m about to toss my breakfast down the sink.

“So.” She smiles, sidling up beside me, dressed in workout clothes and glistening with the glow of good health and sweat. “Don’t we have something to talk about? A conversation you’ve worked hard to delay?”

I reach for my glass and shrug, unsure what to say.

“How’s your new job? Everything okay?”

I nod, easy, noncommittal, as though I’m far too interested in chugging this juice to respond.

“Because I can probably still squeeze you in on that internship if you’d like—”

I shake my head and finish the remains, including the pulp. Rinsing my cup and placing it into the dishwasher as I say, “Not necessary.” Catching the expression on her face and adding, “Really. It’s all good.”

She studies me, gaze intense, really taking me in. “Ever, why didn’t you mention that Paul was your teacher?”

I freeze, but only for a moment before I turn my attention to a bowl of cereal I have no interest in eating. Grabbing a spoon and swirling the contents around and around as I say, “Because Paul with the cool shoes and designer jeans isn’t my teacher. Mr. Munoz with the dork glasses and pressed khakis is.” I lift the spoon to my mouth, carefully avoiding her gaze.

“I just can’t believe you didn’t say anything.” She shakes her head and frowns.

I shrug, pretending I don’t want to speak with my m