Shadowland (The Immortals #3)

The moment I turn the corner, I run. Feet moving so quickly, it’s as though I can outrun Damen, the gallery, everything, all of it. The cobblestone first fading to pavement then grass, running past all of my usual Summerland haunts, determined to manifest one of my own—a place where Damen can’t go.

Making my way to the top of the wooden bleachers at my old school, facing the scoreboard that reads “GO BEARS!” and claiming the seat in the far right corner where I tried my first (and last) cigarette, where I kissed my ex-boyfriend Brandon for the very first time, and where my former friend Rachel and I once reigned supreme, giggling and flirting in our cheerleading outfits, totally unaware of just how complicated life can be.

I place my feet on the bench right before me and bring my head to my knees, choking back great, shoulder-heaving sobs as I try to make sense of what happened. Sniffling into a handful of manifested tissues as I gaze bleary eyed at a football field crowded with faceless, nameless players running through their practice drills as their hair-tossing girlfriends gossip and flirt from the side. Hoping such a familiar, normal scene will somehow provide the comfort I need—then making it fade when I only feel worse.

This is no longer my life. No longer my fate.

Damen’s my future. There’s no doubt in my mind.

Even though I get all jumpy and nervous whenever Jude’s near, even though there’s an undeniable something whenever we meet—it doesn’t mean anything. Doesn’t mean he’s The One. It’s merely the effect of our past familiarity, a subconscious recognition, no more.

Just because he played a part in my history doesn’t mean he has a role in my future other than boss at a summer job I never would’ve gone looking for if Sabine hadn’t made me. So how can I possibly be at fault? How can this possibly be anything other than just a weird coincidence, a pesky part of my past that, through no fault of mine, refuses to die?

I mean, it’s not like I went looking for this—right?

Right?

But even though my heart knows the truth, I can’t help but wonder just what we once meant to each other.

Did I really emerge from a lake not caring if he saw the nude me? Or was that portrait taken straight from his overactive imagination?

Which only leads me to more questions—ones I’d prefer to ignore, like:

Was I not really a virgin for the last four hundred years like I thought?

Did I actually sleep with Jude and not Damen?

And if so, is that why I feel so shy and weird around him now?

I gaze at the empty field before me, turning it into the Roman Coliseum, the Egyptian Pyramids, the Acropolis in Athens, the Grand Bazaar in Istanbul, the Opera House in Sydney, St. Mark’s Square in Venice, the Medina in Marrakech—watching the scenery whirl and change, becoming all the places I hope to visit someday, knowing only one thing for sure:

I’ve got three months.

Three months without Damen.

Three months of knowing he’s out there, somewhere, but unable to touch him, access him, be with him again.

Three months in which to learn enough magick to solve all our problems and get him back for good.

Knowing more than I’ve ever known anything—that he alone is my future, my destiny, no matter what came before.

I focus back on the scenery, the Grand Canyon morphing into Machu Picchu, which becomes the Great Wall of China, knowing there’s plenty of time for this later, but for now, I’ve got to go back.

Back to the earth plane.

Back to the store.

Hoping to catch Jude before he closes up shop, needing him to teach me, once and for all, how to read that book.