“Just tell me if she’s here.” I glare, patience running thin as he looks me over and smirks. Trying to tune into her energy and assuming he’s blocking me when I don’t get very far.
“Maybe yes—maybe no. Who’s to say?” He reaches into his pocket and retrieves a pack of cigarettes, offering one to me. But I just roll my eyes and make a face, seeing him squint as he brings his lighter to the tip, inhaling deeply then exhaling as he says, “Fer chrissakes, Ever, live a little! Immortality is wasted on you!”
I frown, making a show of waving the smoke out of my face when I say, “Who owns this place?” Realizing I’ve never noticed it before and wondering what his connection could be.
He takes a long drag, eyes narrowed, catlike, as he looks me over from my head to my feet. “You think I’m joking but I’m not. No self-respecting immortal would ever be seen looking like that.” He wags a finger at me. “And yet—and yet—feel free to keep the top—just be sure to change all the rest.” He leers, grinning at me in the most predatory way.
“Who owns this place?” I repeat, peering inside again, an idea beginning to form. This isn’t just any old vintage store. These are Roman’s own personal goods. The stuff he’s hoarded through the last six hundred years, doling them out diligently, selling at just the right time—a dealer of antiquities.
He squints, exhaling in a series of smoke rings as he says, “A friend owns it. It’s of no concern of yours.”
I narrow my gaze, knowing better. This is his store. He’s Haven’s boss, the one who signs her checks. But not wanting to let on I just say, “So you’ve made a friend. How sad for them.”
“Oh, I’ve made plenty.” He grins, taking another deep pull before tossing the butt and stomping it out with his shoe. “Unlike you, I don’t alienate people. I don’t hoard my gifts so to speak. I’m a populist, Ever. I give the people what they want.”
“And what’s that?” I ask, part of me wondering why I’m still here, dripping water onto the sidewalk, shivering in my wet jeans and see-thru tee only to engage in this useless, go-nowhere banter, while the other part’s stuck, unable to move.
He smiles, deep blue eyes boring into mine as he says, “Well, they want what they want now, don’t they?” His deep guttural laugh, almost like a growl, sending chills over my skin. “It’s not too hard to decipher. Perhaps you’d like to venture a guess?”
I peer over his shoulder, sure I saw something move. Hoping it’s Haven but finding the same girl I saw at his house that night—the night I was foolish enough to stop by. Her eyes meeting mine as she makes her way around the counter and approaches the door where we stand—all raven black hair, coal black eyes, and smooth dark skin—a beauty so exotic it robs me of breath.
“While it’s been nice chatting with you, Ever, I’m afraid it’s time for you to move along. No offense, darlin’, but you’re looking a bit—unkempt. Bad for business to have you loitering here. Might drive away all the customers, you understand? Though if it’s bus change you need—” He fishes around in his pocket, coming up with a handful of quarters arranged on his palm. “I’ve no idea how much these things cost—haven’t had to ride one since—”
“Since six hundred years ago,” I say, narrowing my gaze. Watching the girl stop and turn the second Roman wiggles his fingers, a signal for her to back away. A gesture someone else might’ve missed, but not me. Seeing her stop and head into a back room I can’t see.
I turn, knowing I’ve no business here. Roman’s voice calling out from behind me as I make my way down the street, shouting, “There were no buses six hundred years ago! You’d know that if you’d quit ditching history!”
But I just continue, refusing to play, almost to the corner when he reaches out and grips me with his mind: Hey, Ever—what do the people want? You might want to ponder that one, could be the clue that leads you to the antidote.
I stumble, hands seeking the wall, fighting to steady myself as the sound of Roman’s voice crowds my head. His lilting accent singing:
We’re not so different you and I. We’re very much the same. And it won’t be long now, darlin’, ’til you’ll get the chance to prove it. Won’t be long now ’til you finally pay the price.
Laughing heartily as he releases me and sends me on my way.
thirty-nine
The next day I head to work as though nothing happened, determined to get past that awkward embrace on the beach, not to mention a shared past that Jude not only has no recollection of, but that never came to fruition for a reason.
A reason named Damen.
But even though I rushed, Miles and Haven still managed to beat me, as they both lean on the counter, flirting with Jude.
“What’re you doing?” I ask, struggling to keep the panic to a minimum while glancing between the three of them—a triumphant Haven, a gleaming-eyed Miles, and a more than a little amused Jude.
“Spilling your secrets, exaggerating your flaws, oh, and inviting Jude here to my going away party—you know, in case you forget to.” Miles laughs.
I glance at Jude, cheeks flaming, unsure what to say. Still gazing at him when Haven adds, “And as luck would have it, he’s free that day!”
I make my way around the counter as though that’s perfectly fine, as though I couldn’t care less that the guy I’ve apparently spent the past several centuries hooking up with—the same guy my soul mate is convinced I have unfinished business with—will be partying in my living room in just a few days.
Haven picks up the flyer advertising Jude’s Psychic Development class and waves it in front of my face. “And how come you never mentioned this?” She frowns. “This kind of thing is right up my alley. You know how I’m totally into this stuff.” She turns to smile at Jude.
“Sorry, but I really didn’t.” I shrug, dropping my bag under the counter and grabbing the stool next to Jude. Refusing to go along with something that’s not even remotely true, and wondering just how soon I can convince them to leave.
“Well, I am. Have been for a while now.” She lifts her brow, looking at me in a way that dares me to refute it, but I refuse to bite. “Luckily, Jude said he’d try to squeeze me in,” she adds with a smirk.
I shoot him a look, a quick, hard, fleeting look, watching as his shoulders pull in ever so slightly as he shrugs and heads for the back room. Returning a moment later with his board hitched under his arm, waving at the three of us as he heads out the door.