So, instead, I just nod, seeing his look of astonishment as I close my eyes and picture the portal—that glorious, shimmering portal. Stepping right through as I say, “Oh well, guess I’ll go it alone then.”
fourteen
I land on my butt. Crash-land smack dab in front of the replica of that beautiful eighteenth-century palace where French royalty lived. But I don’t go inside. Even though I begged to come to this very place, I can’t bear to enter without Damen. It’s our place. A place we share. A place where some of my fondest memories live. And there’s no way I’ll go there without him.
I get to my feet and brush myself off, glancing around as I try to get my bearings and determine my whereabouts. Knowing I could just imagine a destination and find myself magically there, but I’d rather walk, stroll at my leisure and take my sweet time. Enjoy the fact that I’m freed from the beast—even though it’s probably just coiled up somewhere, just biding its time ’til I leave. But for now I’m determined to enjoy some relief.
I raise my hands before me, waving them through the shimmering mist, the hazy glow that originates from everywhere and nowhere. Soothed by the comfortably cool air that wafts over my skin, trusting I’ll eventually end up somewhere great—somewhere I really want to be. That’s the beauty of Summerland—all roads lead to good.
Stopping to pause by the rainbow-colored stream that cuts through the vast fragrant field, I quickly manifest a small handheld mirror to check out my appearance. Relieved to see my eyes now returned to their normal bright blue, my hair back to a shining, lustrous shade of light golden blond, and my skin—my skin is virtually poreless and clear, while the circles that lived under my eyes are now gone. And I wish Damen could see me like this—looking like the old me—the me I used to be. Saddened to think his last memory is of that monstrous creation—the beast of my making. If he’d only agreed to come, I could’ve explained everything.
I wander through the field of shivering trees and pulsating flowers, the scent of those vibrant petals following me until I stumble upon the familiar paved road that leads into town and the Great Halls of Learning, where I decide to try my luck once again. And even though it was no help at all the last time I was there, it’s a new day, a new, regenerated me, and I’ve got every reason to believe this time will be different.
I make my way past a collection of trendy boutiques, a movie theater, and a hair salon, crossing the street just in front of the art gallery, and passing a guy hawking candles, flowers, and small wooden toys, as I make my way through mobs of people all going about their business, an interesting mixture of the living and dead. Turning onto the empty alleyway that leads to the quiet boulevard that brings me to the steep swath of stairs I quickly scale. My gaze fixed on those impressive front doors, knowing there’s still one more step that must be completed.
I stand before the Great Halls, taking in its elaborate carvings, imposing columns, and grand sloping roof—gazing upon a temple constructed purely of love, knowledge, and everything good. Anticipating the usual flicker of images, the Parthenon morphing into the Taj Mahal into the Lotus Temple into the great pyramids of Giza and so on—all the world’s most beautiful and sacred places seamlessly blending, reshaping, and reforming from one to the next—but it doesn’t come. I don’t see anything. Nothing but the impressive marble building that stands proud before me—the images required for entry, invisible to me.
I’m blacklisted.
Condemned.
Barred from entering the one and only place that can help me fix this mess that I’m in.
Even after I try to fake it, forcing myself to replay the images in the order I remember them, it won’t budge. The Great Halls of Learning will not be fooled by the lowly likes of me.
I sink onto the steps and drop my head in my hands, hardly believing what I’ve become, just how low I’ve sunk. Wondering if this is what rock bottom feels like, surely being a Summerland reject is as bad as it gets.
“Scuse me!”
I scoot to the side and pull my legs in, wondering why Ms. Bossy Boots can’t just move around me. I mean, seriously, I may be five eight, but it’s not like I’m taking up all that much space.
My face still hidden by the palms of my hands, not wanting to be seen by some s
uperior Summerland interloper who has access to all the greatest buildings, when:
“Wait—Ever?”
I freeze. I know that voice. Know it all too well.
“Ever—is that really you?”
I lift my head slowly, reluctant to meet Ava’s gaze. The mere sight of her thick auburn hair and large brown eyes stirring something—something on the periphery that I can’t quite grasp—can’t quite make sense of. But it’s not like it matters, because the truth is, she’s pretty much the last person I wanted to see today, or any other day for that matter. But still, why here, why now, haven’t I been punished enough?
“Trying to con your way in?” I ask, voice dripping with sarcasm as I harshly look her over. Realizing just after it’s out that that’s pretty much what I was just trying to do a few moments earlier, and horrified to realize that I’ve sunk so low I’m now equal with her.
She kneels down beside me, head tilted, regarding me closely when she says, “Are you okay?” Her gaze moving over me carefully, intently, almost as though she really does care.
But I know better. Ava only cares for one person—and that’s Ava. As far as she’s concerned, no one else is worth the bother. She proved that when she left Damen to die just after promising me she’d help him.
I look her over, surprised to see how she doesn’t look so different than she did before she ran off with the elixir, but then again, she was starting from a pretty good place, so maybe she didn’t require all that big a change.
“Am I okay?” I mimic, nailing her sugary-sweet, oh-so-concerned tone. Smirking when I add, “Well, I suppose I am. I suppose I’m just really and truly okay. All things considered anyway. Though I’m sure I’m not near as okay as you.” I shrug. “But then again, who is?”
My eyes travel to her neck, in search of a telltale Ouroboros tattoo or some other sign of her new status as an immortal rogue. Surprised to see that not only is she free of all markings but also that her usual tangle of flashy, manifested jewelry has been pared down to a single, raw citrine hanging from a simple silver chain. Squinting as I struggle to recall what I’ve learned about that particular stone—something about it promoting abundance and joy and—oh yes, protecting all seven chakras—well, no wonder she’s wearing it.
I press my lips together and heave an audible sigh, shooting her a look that leaves no room for doubt about just how I feel about her. “I mean, now that you’ve got the whole world at your feet—no one’s doing better than you, right? So tell me, Ava, how does it feel? How does it feel to be the new, improved you? Was it worth betraying your friends for?”
She looks at me, eyes pulled down at the corners, concern clouding her face. “You’ve got it all wrong,” she says. “It’s not at all what you think!”