Night Star

thirty-one

Even though it shows all the signs of turning into an insanely uncomfortable situation, Damen still insists on going to Mystics and Moonbeams. And this time, just before we climb out of my car and head in, I’m the one who questions him on whether or not he truly wants to go through with it.

But he just looks at me and says, “Ever, for four hundred years we’ve been circling each other. Don’t you think it’s finally time to call for a cease-fire?”

I nod, not doubting for a minute that it is indeed time, though I’m not at all sure that Jude will agree. It’s a lot easier to be logical and reasonable about these things when you’re the one on the winning team.

He holds the door open as I make my way in. Spotting a few familiar customers milling about—the woman who collects angel figurines, the guy who’s always bugging us to get an aura video station, even though from what I’ve seen of his, he’s bound to be disappointed by the results, and the older woman with the beautiful purple glow all around her who Ava’s currently assisting with the meditation CDs—while Jude sits behind the counter, taking small sips of coffee. His aura flaring the moment he sees us—especially Damen—though it’s not long before it settles and calms, and I sigh in relief. Knowing it was just the result of an age-old, knee-jerk reaction, the kind that may require some time to phase out, but someday, if Damen has his way, it will.

He moves ahead of me, eager to get this thing started. Making straight for the counter with a ready smile and a softly spoken “Hey,” as Jude takes another sip of his coffee and merely nods in reply. His gaze dancing between us, apprehensive and unsure, and I really hope he doesn’t think we came here to gloat.

“I was wondering if we could maybe talk.” Damen motions toward the back. “Somewhere private, perhaps?”

Jude hesitates for a moment, taking a series of slow contemplative sips, before tossing his cup and leading us into his office. Settling himself behind the old wood desk, while Damen and I claim the two seats on the opposite side.

I watch as Damen leans forward, his gaze intent, face earnest, determined to get right to the point when he says, “I’m guessing you really must hate me by now.”

But if Jude’s surprised by the words, he doesn’t show it. He just shrugs, leans back in his seat, and rests his hands flat against his stomach. His fingers splayed across the colorful mandala symbol that blazes across his white tee.

“And it’s not that I’d blame you if you did,” Damen says, eyes steady, focused on Jude. “Because I’ve no doubt committed my share of hateful acts over the last—” He glances briefly at me, still unused to voicing it out loud, even though he finds himself doing so more and more these days. “Over the last six hundred and some odd years.” He sighs.

Both of us watching as Jude tilts his seat back as far as it will go, taking a moment to gaze up at the ceiling, pushing his fingers into a steeple, before the whole thing collapses and he drops forward again, his gaze boring into Damen’s when he says, “Dude, seriously, what’s that about?”

Damen squints, as I shift uncomfortably in my seat. This was a bad idea. We never should’ve come here like this.

But Jude just leans forward, sliding his elbows across his desk, pushing his dreadlocks off his face as he adds, “Really, what’s that like?”

Damen nods, making some kind of sound between a grunt and a laugh, instantly relaxing as the tension drains from his face and he settles farther back in his seat. Propping his foot on his knee, snapping the bottom of his flip-flop back and forth against his heel, he shrugs and says, “Well, I guess you could say it’s been—” He pauses, searching for just the right word. “Long.” He laughs, eyes creasing at the sides. “It’s been…really, really long, in fact.”

Jude looks at him, nodding in a way that shows he wants to hear more, and Damen obliges, picking at the frayed and broken hem on his faded old jeans, when he adds, “And, to be honest, well, sometimes it’s a little exhausting. And sometimes it feels more than a little defeating—especially when you’re forced to watch the same old tired mistakes being made over and over again with the same lousy excuses to support them.” He shakes his head, lost in a stream of memories most people only learn about through history books. His expression instantly transforming, brightening, when he smiles and says, “And those are just the mistakes I’ve made.” He meets Jude’s gaze. “But then, there are also moments of such extreme beauty and joy that, well, it really does make it all seem worthwhile, you know?”

Jude nods, more in contemplation than agreement, as though he’s still taking it in, considering the statement.

Though it’s enough to prompt Damen to say, “Why, you interested? You want to give it a go?”

Jude and I both look at him, eyes wide, unable to tell if he’s serious.

“Because I can set you up. I know a guy…”

And it’s not until his lips curl into a grin, that I realize he’s joking, and I settle back with relief.

“But the thing is,” Damen says, back to being serious again. “In the end, it’s pretty much all the same. I may live for centuries, you may live for three quarters of a century, but both of us will always find ourselves preoccupied with whatever’s immediately before us—or, more often than not, whatever seems just out of reach…”

We sit there in silence, the words hanging heavy between us, as I gaze down at my knees, too uncomfortable to look anywhere else. Knowing that this is the moment we came for, that Damen’s fully prepared to offer whatever explanation or apology Jude might demand.

But Jude just sits there, picking at a stray paper clip he found on his desk, twisting, and bending, and totally reshaping it until it’s completely unrecognizable from its original form.

Finally looking up when he says, “I get it.” He glances between us, focusing on me until I lift my head and meet his gaze. “Really, I do.” His face so sincere I’ve no doubt he means it. “But if you came here to apologize or try to make up for it or—whatever—you should probably forget it.”

I suck in my breath, as Damen sits perfectly still, waiting for him to continue.

“I mean, I’m not gonna lie, the whole thing sucks for me.” He tries to laugh but doesn’t quite make it. His heart isn’t in it. “But still, I really do get it. I know it wasn’t just a matter of playing fair or not playing fair. I know it wasn’t just about your immense wealth and magick tricks. And I also know it was probably extremely unfair of me to pretend that it was. Because the thing is, Ever isn’t that shallow. Neither was Evaline or any of the rest of them.” His eyes meet mine, and they’re filled with such warmth and kindness and love, it’s impossible to look away. “The only reason I never stood a chance with her is because it was never meant to be me. It was always supposed to be the two of you.”

I exhale slowly, my shoulders sinking, stomach settling, releasing a tension I wasn’t even aware I was holding ’til now.

“And the fire—” Damen starts, desperate to explain that as well.

But Jude dismisses it just as quickly, waving his hand before us. “I know about that too—thanks to Summerland and the Great Halls of Learning.” He shrugs. “I’ve been spending a lot of time there lately, maybe too much time, or at least that’s been Ava’s concern. But, sometimes, well, sometimes, or at least lately anyway, I’d rather be there than here. I guess that’s why I’m so fascinated by your extra long life. I mean, I don’t know how you do it when there are definitely times when the regular life span feels like more than enough, you know?”

Damen nods. Telling Jude he most certainly does know, knows all too well. Then he launches into the story about his first trip to Summerland, back when he was lost, and lonely and looking for some sort of deeper meaning, and found himself studying in India alongside the Beatles. And having already heard it myself, like a thousand times before, I quietly get up, let myself out, and head back into the store, curious to see what Ava’s been up to.

Finding her off in the corner, restocking a shelf full of crystals when she turns to me and says, “All’s well that ends well, right?”

I shrug, having no idea what she’s referring to.

“Your choice.” She smiles, turning back toward the shelf. “It must feel good to have that all figured out, no?”

I sigh. Because while there’s no doubt that it definitely does feel good to put it behind me, the thing with problems is, there’s never any shortage in the supply. As soon as one gets solved, another crops up in its place.

She digs her hand into a bag of rose quartz crystals, the crystal of love, balancing a generous pile of chunks in her palm when she glances at me and says, “But…” Purposely dragging the word out for as long as she can.

“But…” I shrug, hand darting forward, catching a falling stone and handing it back to her. “There’s still Haven, who’s getting more and more out of control, and then, of course, there’s still the antidote, and the fact that Damen and I can’t really, truly touch…” Not outside of the pavilion anyway, but I’m not about to let her in on that. “And then there’s—”

She looks at me, brow raised, patiently waiting, as I quickly weigh whether or not I should confide in her about the dark side of Summerland I’ve discovered, and the strange, seemingly demented old lady Damen and I ran across.

But something keeps me from doing so. Something tells me not to go there with her. Or at least not yet anyway. Not until we’ve had a chance to investigate a little further.

So I take a deep breath, lift an amethyst cluster off the shelf and carefully inspect it from all sides, as I say, “Well, you know, that whole drama with Sabine is still alive and well.” Shaking my head as I return the stone to its place, knowing that while it wasn’t exactly a lie, it wasn’t quite the truth either. It’s not bothering me nearly as much as it used to. Sadly, I’m getting used to living like that.

“Would you like me to speak to her?” she offers, but I quickly dismiss it.

“Trust me, it won’t work. Her mind is made up, and I have a feeling time may be the only cure.”

She nods, wiping her hands on the front of her jeans as she stands back to inspect the shelf. Head tilted, mouth twisted to the side, as she switches the apache’s tear with the phantom quartz, then smiles approvingly.

And when I look at her, I mean really look at her, I can’t help but wonder why she’s always alone. I mean, she has the twins to look after, so I guess she’s not really alone-alone, but still, ever since I met her, she’s been decidedly single, and from what I can tell, she hasn’t gone out on even one date.

And before I can stop it, I say, “Do you think everyone has a soul mate?”

She turns, regarding me seriously.

“I mean, do you think everyone has that one person they’re destined to be with—like Damen and me?”

She’s silent for a moment, as though she’s really taking the time to consider. And just when I’m sure she’s not going to answer, she does something I definitely wasn’t expecting—she bursts out in laughter.

Her whole face lifting, her eyes glinting, when she looks at me and says, “Why? Who are you worried about more here, Ever, me or Jude?”

I flush. I hadn’t realized I was that obvious, but knowing that she’s a pretty gifted psychic and all, I should’ve figured she’d see through me.

“Well, both.” I smile feebly.

Watching as she turns back to her work, folding up the now empty bags, and piling them on top of each other before folding the stack in half and stashing them inside a bigger bag. Her voice soft, just barely audible, when she says, “Well, for the record, yes, I do believe that. But whether or not you’re able to recognize them and do something about it is a whole other story.”