Everlasting (Immortals 6)

resents and a fleet of flying reindeer.

Damen bolts upright, al owing his hand a quick swipe of his eyes, clearing the sleep before reaching for me. A delay that causes him to miss contact, the chance to pul me back to him, as I haul myself to my feet and make my way toward her. Having no idea what I’l say, but I’ve waited too long in the rain to miss the opportunity.

“You…” she begins, her arm slowly lifting, though I’m quick to stop her right there. No need to go into ful -on chant mode, not when we’ve al heard it before and real y don’t need to hear it again.

“About that…” I stand before her, careful to keep a cushion of a few feet between us, even though at her advanced age I’m pretty sure she’s il equipped to harm me in any real way. “I’ve heard the song, memorized the lyrics, and trust me, I mean no disrespect, but do you think we could just communicate in English? Or, at least the kind of English I’m used to, the kind that actual y makes sense?”

My eyes travel over her, taking in the silver wisps of hair, the startling eyes, the skin that appears so fragile and thin it looks as though it might snag. Searching for a reaction, some sign that she took offense at my words, but unable to find any response other than a rheumy old gaze that switches to Damen as he claims the space by my side. His shoulders squared, legs steady, feet placed just so, readying himself to spring into action, do whatever it takes to defend me from this strange centenarian should it come to that.

A thought that seems so sil y on the surface, I could easily burst into yet another fit of laughter if this wasn’t so serious.

I rise up on my toes, wel , as much as one can when knee-deep in muck, remembering how one of the last times I saw her, Misa and Marco surprised me by stepping out from behind her, but from what I can see, today they’re not here.

So far it’s just Damen, the crazy old lady, and me. And, from what I can tel , she doesn’t seem the slightest bit surprised to find us both waiting.

I’m about to speak again, determined to move this thing forward and get what I came for—determined to clear my conscience of the overwhelmingly nagging doubt that Damen might be right after al —that this is al some sort of cruel cosmic joke—that I’m being played in the very worst way—that there’s no way either of us lived before—when she looks at me and says, “Adelina. ”

That’s it. She just says, “Adelina. ” Then lowers her lids and bows ever so slightly, her palms held fast to the center of her chest, the movement directed at me as though she is the worshipper and I’m some kind of hal owed deity.

“Um, see, the thing is,” I start, unsure how to respond to such an awkward gesture and eager to move past it, pretend it didn’t happen.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. My name is Ever and this is Damen—” Damen shoots me a look of absolute horror, unhappy at being pul ed into it. So I shoot him a frown, taking a moment to tack on an eye rol to go along with it, returning my focus to her when I add, “As you already know,” shooting Damen another quick look, reminding him that his identity is hardly a secret where she’s concerned. In fact, she seems to know al about him, or at least his ful name anyway. “And, I have no idea who this Adelina is, or what she could possibly have to do with me, so maybe you can fil me in, what do you think?”

“I am Lotus,” she says, voice like a whisper as her gaze lights on mine.

O- kay, not exactly what I asked, but stil progress. I guess.

“Damen is the reason.” Her head turns toward him. “Your love is the symptom.” She glances back and forth between us. “But you, Adelina, are the cure. The key.” She settles on me.

Oh boy.

Just because I keep myself from sighing, doesn’t mean I keep myself from thinking: Here we go again—more cryptic ramblings that make absolutely no sense.

“Listen, here’s the thing, like I just said, my name is Ever, not Adelina. In fact, I’ve never been Adelina. I’ve been Evaline, Abigail, Fleur, Chloe, and Emala but never Adelina. You got the wrong girl.”

I sigh and turn away, annoyed by the game. Catching a glimpse of relief in Damen’s gaze—a glimpse that soon turns to rage—when the old woman steps forward and grabs ahold of my sleeve.

“Hey—” Damen’s voice is sharp, but Lotus ignores him, her grip tightening on my arm as she peers at me intently.

“Please. We’ve waited so long. Waited for you, Adelina. You must return. You must make the journey. You must find the truth. It’s the only way to release them. Release me.”

“Where are Misa and Marco?” I ask, though I have no idea why. Maybe it’s because they’re the only things that feel tangible and real in this otherwise surreal scene.

“There are many who await you. The journey is yours. Yours and only yours.”

“What journey?” I ask, voice trembling like a sob. “I’m sorry but none of this makes any sense. If it’s so important for me to do this, even though I’m not Adelina, then maybe you can quit with the puzzles and explain it in a way that’l mean something to me.”

“The journey back.” She bows her head again, leaving me with a view of silvery hair with no discernable part.

“Back to where?” I plead, face flushing with the makings of hysteria—and knowing I need to dial it down a notch, or maybe two.

“Back to the beginning. To the scene you’ve yet to see. Back to its very origin. You must see it. Learn it. Know it. Al of it. Though, you must be warned it is only the start. The journey is long, arduous, but the reward very great. The truth begets true happiness—but only the pure of heart may seize it.” Her gaze switching to Damen as she adds, “The journey is yours and yours alone, Adelina. Damen is not welcome there.”

Damen cuts in, having heard more than enough. “Listen,” he says, “I don’t know what you’re trying to do here but—”

His anger halted by the surprising sight of her palm rising, fol owed by the shock of it pressing to his cheek. It’s like, one minute he’s yel ing, a good two feet yawning between them, and the next, she’s practical y pressed up against him, her rheumy old gaze boring into his, transmitting something, some kind of message or memory meant only for him.

I watch, fascinated, wondering just what it is that transpires between them. Knowing only one thing for sure, that whatever it is, it’s causing her to glow in a way that prompts a stream of light to radiate al around. The color spectrum so intense, it’s as though it originates from somewhere so deep, it can’t help but seep outward until the glimmer surrounds her.