Shadowland (The Immortals #3)

Jude follows me out of the water and halfway down the beach, calling after me, trying to keep up, finally surrendering when I cross the street and head toward the store where Haven works.

I need to talk to someone, confide in a friend. Put it all out there and unburden myself, no matter the cost.

Immune to the weight of my soaking wet jeans, the slap of fabric, my clinging, damp tee—not even thinking about manifesting something dry to wear until I get to the door and find Roman there.

“Sorry, no shoes, no shirt, no service.” He smiles. “Though I must say, I am enjoying the view.”

I follow his gaze all the way down to my chest, covering it with my arms when I see how my top has gone pretty much see-thru.

“I need to talk to Haven.” I start to push past him only to be blocked once again.

“Ever, please. This is a classy establishment. Maybe you should come back when you’re a little more—pulled together.”

I peer over his shoulder, catching a glimpse of a fairly large space so opulent, so packed with stuff, it’s like the inside of Genie’s bottle. Crystal chandeliers hanging from the rafters, iron sconces and framed oil paintings marking the walls, while the floors are covered with colorful, woven, overlapping rugs as antique furnishings butt up against rack after rack of vintage clothing and tall glass display cases filled with trinkets and jewelry.

“Just tell me if she’s here.” I glare, patience running thin as he looks me over and smirks. Trying to tune into her energy and assuming he’s blocking me when I don’t get very far.

“Maybe yes—maybe no. Who’s to say?” He reaches into his pocket and retrieves a pack of cigarettes, offering one to me. But I just roll my eyes and make a face, seeing him squint as he brings his lighter to the tip, inhaling deeply then exhaling as he says, “Fer chrissakes, Ever, live a little! Immortality is wasted on you!”

I frown, making a show of waving the smoke out of my face when I say, “Who owns this place?” Realizing I’ve never noticed it before and wondering what his connection could be.

He takes a long drag, eyes narrowed, catlike, as he looks me over from my head to my feet. “You think I’m joking but I’m not. No self-respecting immortal would ever be seen looking like that.” He wags a finger at me. “And yet—and yet—feel free to keep the top—just be sure to change all the rest.” He leers, grinning at me in the most predatory way.

“Who owns this place?” I repeat, peering inside again, an idea beginning to form. This isn’t just any old vintage store. These are Roman’s own personal goods. The stuff he’s hoarded through the last six hundred years, doling them out diligently, selling at just the right time—a dealer of antiquities.

He squints, exhaling in a series of smoke rings as he says, “A friend owns it. It’s of no concern of yours.”

I narrow my gaze, knowing better. This is his store. He’s Haven’s boss, the one who signs her checks. But not wanting to let on I just say, “So you’ve made a friend. How sad for them.”

“Oh, I’ve made plenty.” He grins, taking another deep pull before tossing the butt and stomping it out with his shoe. “Unlike you, I don’t alienate people. I don’t hoard my gifts so to speak. I’m a populist, Ever. I give the people what they want.”

“And what’s that?” I ask, part of me wondering why I’m still here, dripping water onto the sidewalk, shivering in my wet jeans and see-thru tee only to engage in this useless, go-nowhere banter, while the other part’s stuck, unable to move.

He smiles, deep blue eyes boring into mine as he says, “Well, they want what they want now, don’t they?” His deep guttural laugh, almost like a growl, sending chills over my skin. “It’s not too hard to decipher. Perhaps you’d like to venture a guess?”

I peer over his shoulder, sure I saw something move. Hoping it’s Haven but finding the same girl I saw at his house that night—the night I was foolish enough to stop by. Her eyes meeting mine as she makes her way around the counter and approaches the door where we stand—all raven black hair, coal black eyes, and smooth dark skin—a beauty so exotic it robs me of breath.

“While it’s been nice chatting with you, Ever, I’m afraid it’s time for you to move along. No offense, darlin’, but you’re looking a bit—unkempt. Bad for business to have you loitering here. Might drive away all the customers, you understand? Though if it’s bus change you need—” He fishes around in his pocket, coming up with a handful of quarters arranged on his palm. “I’ve no idea how much these things cost—haven’t had to ride one since—”

“Since six hundred years ago,” I say, narrowing my gaze. Watching the girl stop and turn the second Roman wiggles his fingers, a signal for her to back away. A gesture someone else might’ve missed, but not me. Seeing her stop and head into a back room I can’t see.

I turn, knowing I’ve no business here. Roman’s voice calling out from behind me as I make my way down the street, shouting, “There were no buses six hundred years ago! You’d know that if you’d quit ditching history!”

But I just continue, refusing to play, almost to the corner when he reaches out and grips me with his mind: Hey, Ever—what do the people want? You might want to ponder that one, could be the clue that leads you to the antidote.

I stumble, hands seeking the wall, fighting to steady myself as the sound of Roman’s voice crowds my head. His lilting accent singing:

We’re not so different you and I. We’re very much the same. And it won’t be long now, darlin’, ’til you’ll get the chance to prove it. Won’t be long now ’til you finally pay the price.

Laughing heartily as he releases me and sends me on my way.