"Oh good, you made it. And I see you've met my niece," she says, ushering her into the den where a table is set up and waiting.
I hover close by, wondering if Ava the Psychic will try to mention my dead little sister. But then Sabine asks me to fetch Ava a drink, and by the time I return she's giving a reading.
"You should get in line before it gets any longer," Sabine says, her shoulder pressed against
Frankenstein, who, with or without the creepy mask, is not the cute guy who works in her build ing. He's also not the big, successful investment banker he pretends to be. In fact, he still lives with his mother.
But I don't want to tell her any of that and destroy her good mood, so I just shake my head and say, "Maybe later."
It's nice to see Sabine enjoying herself for a change, good to know she has a whole network of friends, and from what I can see, a renewed interest in dating. And even though it's fun watching Riley dance with unsuspecting people and eavesdrop on conversations she probably shouldn't hear, I need a break from all of the random thoughts, vibrating auras, swirling energy, but most of all-,I Damen.
So far I've done.my best to keep my distance, to act cool and ignore him when I see him at school, but seeing him to~ night, dres~ed in what is clearly the other half of a couple's costumewell, I'm not sure what to think. I mean, last I saw, he was into the redhead, Stacia, anyone but me. Enchanting them with his charm, good looks, charisma, and inexplicable magic tricks.
I bury my nose in the flowers he brought me, twenty-four tulips, all of them red. And· even though tulips aren't exactly known for their scent, somehow these are heady, intoxicating, and sweet. I inhale deeply, losing myself in their fragrant bouquet and secretly admitting I like him. I mean, I really like him. I can't help it. I just do. And no matter how hard I try to pretend otherwise, it doesn't make it any less true.
Before Damen came along, I'd resigned myself to a solitary fate. Not that I was thrilled with the idea of never having another boyfriend, of never getting close to another person again. But how can I date when touch feels so overbearing? How can I be in a relationship when I'll always know what my partner is thinking? Never getting the chance to obsess, dissect, and guess at the secret meaning of everything he says and does?
And even though it probably seems cool to read minds and energy and auras, trust me, it so isn't. I would give anything to get myoId life back, to be as normal and clueless as every other girl. Because sometimes even your best friends can think some pretty unflattering things, and not having an off switch requires a heck of a lot of forgiveness.
But that's what's so great about Damen. He's like an off switch. He's the only one I can't read, the only one who can silence the sound of everyone else.
And even though he makes me feel wonderful and warm and as close to normal as I'll ever get to be, I can't help but think that there's nothing normal about it.
I sit on one of the lounge chairs and arrange my full skirt all around, watching the water globes bob and change color as they glide across the pool's shiny surface. And I'm so lost in my thoughts and the amazing view before me, that at first I don't notice when Damen appears.
"Hey." He smiles.
And when I glance at him, my whole body heats.
"It's a good party. I'm glad I crashed." He sits down beside me, as I stare straight ahead, aware that he's teasing but too nervous to respond. "You make a good Marie," he says, his finger tapping the long black feather I stuck in my wig at the very last moment.
I press my lips together, feeling anxious, nervous, tempted to flee. Then I take a deep breath and relax and go with it. Allow myself to live a little-if just for one night. 'And you make a good Count Fersen," I finally say.
"Please, call me Axel." He laughs.
"Did they charge extra for the moth hole?" I ask, nodding at the frayed spot near his shoulder, though choosing not to mention its musty scent.
He looks at me, his eyes right on mine when he says, "That's -;;-~~ ~~-~ no moth hole. That's the by-product of artillery fire, a real near miss as they say."
"Well, if I remember right, in this particular scene you were pursuing a dark-haired girl." I glance at him, remembering a time when flirting came easy, summoning the girl I used to be.
"There's been a last-minute rewrite." He smiles. "Didn't you get the new script?"
I kick my feet up and smile, thinking how nice it feels to finally let go, to act like a normal girl, with a normal crush, just like anyone else.
"And in this new version it's just us. And you, Marie, get to keep your pretty head." He takes his finger, the very tip of his index finger, and slides it across the width of my neck, leaving a trail of warm wonderful sizzle as he lingers just under my ear. "Why didn't you get in line for a reading?" he whispers, his fingers traveling along my jaw, my cheek, tracing the curve of my ear, as his lips loom so close our breaths meet and mingle.
I shrug and press my lips, wishinghe'djust shut up and kiss me already.
'Are you a skeptic?"
"No-I just-l don't know;" I mumble, so frustrated I'm tempted to scream.
Why does he insist on talking? Doesn't he realize this may be my last remaining shot at a normal boy-girl experience? That an opportunity like this may never present itself again?
"How come you're not in line?" I ask, no longer trying to hide my frustration.
"Waste of time." He laughs. "It's not possible to read minds, or tell the future-rightf"
I shift my gaze to the pool, blinking at the water globes that have not only turned pink but are forming a heart.
"Have I angered you?" he asks, his fingers cupping my chin, bringing my face back to his.
And that's another thing. Sometimes he uses California surf speak as well as anyone else around here, and other times, he sounds like he just walked straight out of the pages of Wuthering Heights. "No. You have not angered me," I say, laughing in spite of myself.
"What's so funny?" he asks, his fingers sliding under my bangs, seeking the scar on my forehead and causing me to pull away. "How'd you get that?" he asks, hand back to his side, gazing at me with such warmth and sincerity I almost confide.
But I don't. Because this is the one night of the year when I get to be someone else. When I get to pretend that I'm not responsible for the end of everything I held dear. Tonight I get to flirt, and play, and make reckless decisions I'll probably live to regret. Because tonight I'm no longer Ever, I'm Marie. And if he's any kind of a Count Fersen he'll shut up and kiss me already.
"I don't want to talk about it," I say, blinking at the water globes that are now red and forming into a tulip.
"What do you want to talk about?" he whispers, gazing at me with those eyes, two infinite pools luring me in.
"I don't want to talk," I whisper, holding my breath as his lips meet mine.
Thirteen
If I thought his voice was amazing with the way it envelopes me in silence, if I thought his touch was incredible with the way it awakens my skin, well, the way he kisses is otherworldly. And even though I'm no expert, having only kissed a few guys before, I'm still willing to bet that a kiss like this, a kiss this com-. plete and transcendent, is a once-in-a-lifetime thing.
And when he pulls away and gazes into my eyes, I close mine again, grab his lapels, and bring him back to me.
Until Haven says, 'Jeez, I've been looking all over for you. I should've known you'd be hiding out here."
I pull away, horrified to be caught in the act, not long after swearing that I don't even like him.
"We were just-"
She raises her hand to stop me. "Please. Spare me the details.
I just wanted you to know that Evangeline and I are taking off."
"Already?" I ask, wondering how long we've been out here. "Yeah, my friend Drina stopped by, she's taking us to another party. You guys are welcome to tag along too-though you seem pretty busy." She smirks.
"Drina?" Damen says, standing so fast his whole body blurs.
"You know her?" Haven asks, but Damen's already gone, moving so fast we scramble to follow.
I rush behind Haven, anxious to catch up, desperate to explain, but when we reach the french doors and I grab onto her shoulder I'm filled with such darkness, such overwhelming anger and despair, the words freeze on my tongue.
Then she pulls away and glares over her shoulder, saying, "I told you you suck at lying," before continuing on.
I take a deep breath and follow behind, trailing them through the kitchen, the den, making my way to the door, my eyes fixed on the back of Damen's head, noticing how he moves so fast and sure, it's as though he knows just where to find her. And by the time I step into the foyer, I freeze when I see them togetherhe in his eighteenth-century splendor-and she dressed as a Marie Antoinette so rich, so lovely, so exquisite, she puts me to shame.
'And you must be " She lifts her chin as her eyes land on ~ine, two glowing spheres of deep emerald green.
"Ever," I mumble, taking in the pale blond wig, the· creamy flawless skin, the tangle of pearls at her throat, watching as her perfect pink lips display teeth so white they hardly seem real.
I turn to Damen, hoping he can explain, provide some logical explanation for how the redhead from the St. Regis ended up in my foyer. But he's too busy gazing at her to even notice my exis tence.
"What are you doing here?" he asks, his voice nearly a whisper.
"Haven invited me." She smiles.
And as I glance from her to him, my body fills with a cold hard dread. "How do you know each other?" I ask, noting how Damen's entire demeanor has changed, suddenly growing chilly, cold, and distant-a dark cloud where the sun used to be.
"I met her at Nocturne," Drina says, gazing right at me.
"We're headed there now: Ihope you don't mind my stealing her away?"
I narrow my eyes, ignoring the twitch in my heart, the pang in my gut, as I struggle to get some kind of read. But her thoughts are inaccessible, sealed off completely, and her aura nonexistent.
"Oh, silly me, you were referring to Damen and I, weren't you?" She laughs, her eyes traveling slowly over my costume, until coming back to meet mine. And when I don't respond she nods when she says, "We knew each other back in New Mexico."
Only, when she says, "New Mexico," Damen says, "New Orleans." Causing Drina to laugh in a way that never quite reaches her eyes.
"Let's just say we go way back." She nods, extending a hand to my sleeve, her fingers trailing its beaded edge, before sliding down to my wrist. "Lovely dress," she says, clasping me tightly. "Did you make it yourself?"
I wrench my arm free, less from the shock of being mocked and more from the chill of her fingers, the frigid scratch of her cold sharp nails freezing my skin and shooting ice through my veins.
"Isn't she the coolest?" Haven says, gaZing at Drina with the sort of awe she usually reserves for vampires, goth rockers, and Damen. While Evangeline stands beside her, rolling her eyes and checking her watch.
"We really need to go if we're going to make it to Nocturne by midnight," Evangeline says.
''You're welcome to join us." Drina smiles. "Fully stocked limo."
And when I glance at Haven, I can hear her thinking: Say no, say no, please say no!
Drina glances between Darnen and me. "Driver's waiting," she sings.
I turn to him, my heart caving when I see how conflicted he is. Then I clear my throat and force myself to say, "You can go if you want. But I need to stay. I can't exactly leave my own party." Then I laugh, attempting to sound light and breezy, when the truth is, I can barely breathe.
Drina glances between us, brows arched, face haughty, betraying just the briefest glimmer of shock when Damen shakes his head and takes my hand instead of hers.
"So wonderful to meet you Ever," Drina says, pausing before climbing into the limo. "Though I'm sure we'll meet again."
I watch as they disappear from the driveway and onto the street, then I turn to Damen and say, "So, who should I expect next, Stacia, Honor, and Craig?"
And the second it's out, I'm ashamed for having said it, for revealing what a petty, jealous, pathetic person I am. It's not like I didn't know better. So I shouldn't feel so surprised.
Damen's a player. Pure and simple. Tonight just happened to be my turn.
"Ever," he says, smoothing his thumb over my cheek.
And just as I start to pull away, unwilling to hear his excuses, he looks at me and whispers, "I should probably go too."
I search his eyes, my mind accepting a truth my heart would rather refuse, knowing there's more to the statement, words he failed to include-I should go-so I can catch up with her.
"Okay, well thanks for coming," I finally say,; sounding less like a prospective girlfriend and more like a waitress after a particularly long shift.
But he just smiles, removes the feather from the back of my wig, and guides it down the length of my neck, tapping the very tip to my nose as he says, "Souvenir?"
And I've barely had a chance to respond before he's in his car and driving away.
I sink down onto the stairs, my head in my hands, wig teetering precariously, wishing I could just disappear, go back in time, and start over. Knowing I never should've allowed him to kiss me, never should've invited him in
"There you are!" Sabine says, grabbing hold of my arm and pulling me to my feet. "I've been looking all over for you. Ava agreed to stay just long enough to give you a reading."
"But I don't want a reading," I tell her, not wanting to offend, but not wanting to go through with it either. I just want to go to my room, ditch this wig, and fall into a long, dreamless sleep.
But Sabine's been hitting the party punch, which means she's too tipsy to listen. So she grabs my hand and leads me into the den where Ava is waiting.
"Hello, Ever." Ava smiles as I sink onto the seat, grip the table, and wait for Sabine's inebriated energy to fade.
"Take all the time you need." She smiles.
I gaze at the tarot cards laid out before me. "Um, nothing personal, but I don't want a reading,"
I say, meeting her eyes before averting my gaze.
"Then I won't give you a reading." She shrugs, gathering the cards and beginning to shuffie.
"What do you say we just go through the motions so we can make your aunt happy? She worries about you. Wonders if she's doing the right thing-providing enough freedom, providing too much freedom." She looks at me. "What do you think?"
I shrug and roll my eyes. That hardly qualifies as a revelation. "She's getting married, you know."
I look up, startled, my eyes meeting hers.
"But not today." She laughs. "Not tomorrow either. So don't worry."
"Why would I worry?" I shift in my seat, watching as she cuts the deck in half before spreading the cards into a crescent. "I want Sabine to be happy, and if that's what it takes-"
"True. But you've experienced so many changes this past year already, haven't you? Changes you're still trying to adjust to. It's not easy, is it?" She gazes at me.
But I don't respond. And why should I? She's yet to say anything remotely earth shattering or insightful. Life is full of change, big deal. I mean, isn't that pretty much the point? To grow; and change, and move along? Besides, it's not like Sabine's an enigma. It's not like she's all that complex, or hard to figure out..
"So how are you handling your gift?" Ava asks, turning some cards, while leaving others face down.
"My what?" I peer at her, wondering where she could pos sibly be going with this.
"Your psychic gift." She smiles, nodding as though it's a fact. "I don't know what you're talking about." I press my lips together and glance around the room, seeing Miles and Eric dance with
Sabine and her date, and unbeknownst to them, Riley.
"It's hard at first." She nods. "Believe me, I know I was the first to know about my grandmother's passing. She came right into my room, stood at the foot of my bed, and waved good-bye. I was only four at the time, so you can imagine how my parents reacted when I ran into the kitchen to tell them." She shakes her head and laughs. "But you understand, because you see them too, right?"
I stare at the cards, my hands clasped together, not saying a word.
"It can feel so overwhelming, so isolating. But it doesn't have to. You don't have to hide under a hood, killing your eardrums with music you don't even like.
There are ways to handle it, and I'd be happy to show you because, Ever, you don't have to live like that."
I grip the edge of the table and rise from my seat, my legs feeling shaky, unsure, my stomach unstable. This lady is crazy if she thinks what I have is a gift. Because I know better. I know it's just one more punishment for everything that I did, everything that I caused. It's my own personal burden, and I just have to deal with it. "I have no idea what you're talking about," I finally say.
But she just nods, and slides her card toward me. "When you're ready, you can reach me here." , I take her card, but only because Sabine's watching from across the room and I don't want to seem rude. Then I fold it in the palm of my hand, squishing it into a hard, angry ball, as I ask, "Are we done?" anxious to get away.
"One last thing." She slides the deck into a brown leather case. 'Tm worried about your little sister. I think it's time she moves on, don't you?"
I look at her, sitting there so smug and knowing, judging my life when she doesn't even know me. "Por your information Riley has moved on! She's dead!" I whisper, dropping her crumbledup card on the table, no longer caring who sees.
But she just smiles and says, "I think you know what I mean."
Fourteen
That night, long after the party had ended and all of our guests were gone, I was lying in bed, thinking about Ava, what she said about Riley being stuck, and how I was to blame. I guess I'd always assumed Riley had moved on and was choosing to visit on her own free will. Since it's not like I ask her to drop by all the time, it's just something she chooses to do. And the times she's not with me, well, I figure she's kicking it somewhere in Heaven. And even though I know Ava's only trying to help, offering to stand in as some sort of psychic big sister, what she doesn't realize is that I don't want any help. That even though I yearn to be normal again, go back to the way things were before, I also know that this is my punishment. Tl;Iis horrible gift is what I deserve for all the harm that I've caused, for the lives I cut short. And now I just have to live with it-and try not to harm anyone else.
When I finally did fall asleep, I dreamt of Damen. And everything about it felt so powerful, so intense, so urgent, I thbught it was real. But by morning, all I had left were fragmented pieces, shifting images with no beginning or end. The only thing I could clearly remember was the two of us running through a cold
"What's your problem? Why so grumpy?" Riley asks, perched on the edge of my bed, dressed in a Zorro costume identical to the one Eric wore to the party.
"Halloween's over," I say; staring pointedly at the black leather whip she slaps against the floor.
"Duh." She makes a face and continues to punish the carpet.
"So I like the costume, big deal. I'm thinking about dressing up every day."
I lean toward the mirror, insert my tiny diamond-chip studs, and scrape my hair into a ponytail.
"I can't believe you're still dressing like that," she says, her nose crinkling in disgust. "I thought you bagged yourself a boyfriend?" She drops the whip and grabs my iPod, her fingers sliding around the wheel as she scrolls through my playlist.
I turn, wondering what exactly she saw.
"Hel-lo?.At the party? By the pool? Or was that just a hookup?" I stare at her, my face flushing crimson. "What do you know about hookups? You're only twelve! And why the heck are you spying on me?"
She rolls her eyes. "Please, like I'd waste my time spying on you when there's way better stuff I can see. For your information, I just so happened to go outside at the exact same moment you shoved your tongue down that Damen guy's throat. And trust me, I wish I hadn't seen it."
I shake my head and ransack my drawer, transferring my annoyance at Riley onto my sweatshirts. ''Yeah, well, I hate to break it to you, but he's hardly my boyfriend. I haven't talked to him since," I say, hating the way my stomach just curled in on itself when I said that. Then I grab a clean gray sweatshirt and yank it over my head, completely destroying the ponytail I just made.
"I can spy on him if you want. Or haunt him." She smiles.
I look at her and sigh. Part of me wanting to take her up on it, the other part knowing it's time to move on, cut my losses, and forget it ever happened. "Just stay out of it, okay?" I finally say. "I'd like just one normal high school experience, if you don't mind."
"Up to you." She shrugs, tossing me the iPod. "But just so you know, Brandon's back on the market."
I grab a stack of books and stuff them into my backpack, amazed at how that bit of news doesn't make me feel any better.
"Yup, Rachel dumped him on Halloween when she caught him making out with a Playboy bunny. Only it wasn't really a Playboy bunny, it was Heather Watson dressed as one."
"Seriously?" I gape. "Heather Watson? You're joking." I try to picture it in my mind, but it doesn't add up.
"Scouts honor. You should see her, she lost twenty pounds, ditched the headgear, got her hair straightened, and she looks like a totally different person. Unfortunately, she also acts like a totally different person. She's kind of a, well, you know, a B with an itch," she whispers, going back to whipping the floor, as I let that bizarre piece of news sink in.
"You know, you really shouldn't be spying on people," I say, more concerned with her spying on me than any of myoId friends. "It's kind of rude, don't you think?" I heave my bag onto my shoulder and head for the door.
Riley laughs. "Don't be ridiculous. It's good to keep up with people from the old neighborhood."
'Are you coming?" I ask, turning impatiently.
"Yup, and I call shotgun!" she says, slipping right past me and hopping onto the banister, her black Zorro cape floating on air as she slides all the way down.
By the time I get to Miles's, he's waiting outside, thumbs tapping his Sidekick. 'Just-one-second okay, done!" He slips I onto the passenger seat and peers closely at me. "Now-tell me everything! Start to finish. I want all the dirty details, leave nothingout!"
"What're you talking about?" I back out of his driveway and onto the street, shooting a warning glance at Riley who's perched on his knee, blowing on his face and laughing when he tries to adjust the air vent.
Miles looks at me and shakes his head. "Hel-lo? Damen? I heard you guys were macking in the moonlight, making out by the pool, hooking up under the moon's silvery-"
"Where are you going with this?" I ask, even though I already know, but hoping there's some way to stop him.
"Listen, word's out so don't even try to deny it. And I would've called you yesterday but my dad confiscated my phone and dragged me to the batting cages, so he could watch me swing like a girI." He laughs. "You should've seen me, I totally camped it up and he was horror-fied! That'll teach him. But anyway, back to you. Come on, the divulging starts now; Tell me everything," he says, turning toward me and nodding impatiently. "Was it as awesome as we all dreamed it would be?"
I shrug, glancing at Riley and warning her with my eyes to either cease and desist or disappear. "Sorry to disappoint you," I finally say. "But there's nothing to telL"
"That's not what I heard. Haven said-"
I press my lips and shake my head. Just because I already
\n know what Haven said doesn't mean I want to hear it spoken out loud. So I cut him off when I say, "Okay fine, we kissed. But just once." I can feel him looking at me, brows raised, lips smirked in suspicion. "Maybe twice. I don't know, it's not like I counted," I mumble, lying like a red-faced, sweaty-palmed, shifty-eyed amateur, and hoping he doesn't notice. Because the truth is I've replayed that kiss so many times it's tattooed on my brain.
'lInd?" he says, impatient for more.
"And-nothing," I say, relieved when I glance at him and see Riley's gone..
"He didn't call? Or text? Or e-mail? Or drop by?" Miles gasps, visibly upset, wondering what it means not only for;ne, but the future of our group.
I shake my head and stare straight ahead, angry with myself for not dealing with it better, hating the way my throat's gone all tight as my eyes start to sting.
"But what did he say? When he left the party, I mean? What were his very last words?" Miles asks, determined to find some ray of hope in this bleak and bitter landscape.
I turn at the light, remembering our strange and sudden good-bye at the door. Then I face
Miles, swallow hard, and say, "He said, 'souvenir?'''
And the moment it's out, I know it's a really bad sign. Nobody takes a souvenir from a place they plan to frequent. Miles looks at me, his eyes expressing the words his lips have refused.
"Tell me about it," I say, shaking my head as I pull into the lot.
Even though I'm fully committed to not thinking about Damen, I can't help but feel disappointed when I get to English and see he's not there. Which, of course, makes me think about him even that much more, until I'm teetering on the edge of obsession.
I mean, just because our kiss seemed like something more than just a random hookup doesn't mean he felt the same way. And just because it felt solid and true and transcendent to me doesn't mean he was in on it too. Because no matter how hard I try, I can't shake the image of him and Orilla standing together, a perfect Count Fersen with an idyllic Marie. While I stood on the sidelines all shiny and pouffy like the world's biggest wannabe.
I'm just about to click on my iPod when Stacia and Damen burst through the door. Laughing and smiling, shoulders nearly touching, two Single white rosebuds clutched in her hand.
And when he leaves her at her desk and heads toward me, I fumble with some papers and pretend I didn't see.
"Hey," he says, sliding onto his seat. Acting like everything's perfectly normaI. Like he didn't pull'a grope-and-run less than forty-eight hours before.
I plate my cheek on my palm and force my face into a yawn, hoping to come off as bored, tired, worn out from activities he couldn't begin to imagine, doodling on a piece of notebook paper with fingers so shaky my pen slips right out of my hand.
I bend down to retrieve it, and when I come back up I find a single red tulip on top of my desk.
"What happened? You run out of white rosebuds?" I ask, flipping through books and papers, as though I've something important to do.
"I would never give you a rosebud," he says, his eyes searching for mine.
But I refuse to meet his gaze, refuse to get sucked into his sadistic little game. I just grab my bag and pretend to search for something inside, cursing under my breath when I find it stuffed full of tulips.
"You're strictly a tulip girl-a red tulip girI." He smiles.
"How exciting for me," I mumble, dropping my bag to the ground and scooting to the farthest part of my seat, having no idea what any of it could possibly mean.
By the time I get to our lunch table, I'm a sweaty mess. Wondering if Damen will be there, if
Haven will be there-because even though I haven't seen or spoken to her since Saturday night,
I'm willing to bet she still hates me. But despite spending all of thirdperiod chemistry practicing an entire speech in my head, the second I see her, I've lost all the words.
"Well, look who's here," Haven says, gazing at me.
I slide onto the bench beside Miles who's far too busy texting to even notice my existence, and I can't help but wonder if I should try to find some new friends-not that anyone would have me.