Everlasting (Immortals 6)

And when Damen tries to manifest a tulip for me, sadly, it never makes it past the vision he holds in his head. But before he can real y start to feel bad, I’m quick to remind him that if it’s true what they say about the universe, that thoughts truly do create, then that tulip wil show up eventual y.

When we arrive at my house, I dash up the stairs and head straight for my closet, busying myself with throwing a bag together, while Damen heads for the den, cal ing out, “What should I do with al this?”

I zip the duffle closed and swing it over my shoulder, glad to see I’ve stil got at least some of my immortal strength and stamina since I basical y threw in everything that would fit.

I go to where he stands, seeing him point toward the bottles of elixir stil stored in my mini-fridge. Only their numbers have greatly diminished from the last time I looked.

I slip around the counter, dropping to my knees as I conduct a quick mental count. A count I repeat again and again—each time coming to the same startling conclusion: Not al of the immortals went for the fruit.

“I was thinking we should destroy them, or at least keep them under lock and key. I’d hate for them to get in the wrong hands, or even unsuspecting hands, you know?” Damen turns to face me. “Hey, what’s wrong?” he asks, alerted by my expression.

“It used to be ful .” I look at him. “When I left the party, it was ful . And now…” I shake my head, place my hand against my stomach, starting to feel a little il . “I was real y hoping to convince them—al of them. But maybe I left too early? Maybe I should’ve stuck around a little longer?”

I grip my knees, preparing to stand when Damen says, “How can you be sure it was an immortal?”

My eyes meet his, and suddenly the room begins to swirl, forcing me to grab hold of the counter to steady myself.

But just as quickly, it’s passed.

In the end, it’s just like Lotus said—I did al I could—the rest was up to them.

There’s such a thing as free wil , and from the looks of it, someone has decided to exercise theirs.

“Toss it,” I say. “Toss al of it. I’ve reserved plenty of leftover fruit for any immortals who find themselves trapped. But as for the elixir, we’ve no need of it—it’s time to wash our hands of it.”

We get to work, me removing the tops, then handing him the bottles, which he empties down the drain. And when we’re finished, he turns to me, grasps my hands in his, and tel s me to envision a shimmering golden veil.

“Summerland?” I quirk my brow, wondering why I need to pack a bag for Summerland when you can just manifest anything you want, and wondering if we’l stil be able to get there. Knowing I’l be crushed if it turns out we can’t.

But he just shakes his head and says, “Believe. ”

So I do.

And a moment later, we’re stepping through the light, stepping right into that vast fragrant field, feeling happy, satisfied, pleased to know it’s stil within the realm of possibilities.

Damen looks at me, as relieved as I am when he says, “And now for part two…”

I wait, hold my breath, having no idea what that might be.

“Remember when Miles used to talk about us al backpacking around Europe after high school?”

I nod, growing even more perplexed.

“Wel , I thought it sounded like a great idea. And since we never went on that vacation because of the journey to the tree and al , and since you got a late col ege admission, I figured we’d take him up on it.”

“But Miles isn’t going to Europe,” I say, knowing for a fact that he’s on his way to a big audition in New York City and that Holt’s going with him. And, if memory serves, I prophesized that he’d get that audition—he’s going to be a huge Broadway star, and Holt’s going to be by his side for a very long time.

“I know. But then I figured that doesn’t mean we can’t go, right? So, if it’s okay with you, I thought we’d start in Italy. I can’t wait to show you around my old haunts—Firenze is a beautiful city, I know you’l love it. And the food!” He looks at me, grinning when he says, “Wel , I hear it’s vastly improved over the last six hundred years.”

“So … we’re going to the Summerland version of Italy?” I say, trying not to sound as disappointed as I feel.

But Damen just laughs. “No. I had two reasons for coming here—one, to see if we could—and two, because I wanted to beat the traffic. We’re departing out of LAX. Our plane leaves at—” He glances at his watch then at me. “Our plane leaves in fifteen minutes.”

“But we have to go through security! And get to the gate, and—”

My words stopped by his own when he says, “Shhh … just close your eyes and picture yourself in seat three-A with me sitting right there beside you…”

forty-five