Night Star

thirty-three

We drive past Roman’s old store, Renaissance!, even though I have no plans to go inside since it’s too early for that. The last thing I need is another confrontation with Haven or any of the other immortals that work in the place. Yet I still slow as I near it, quickly calculating just how long it’s been since the last time I was there, and more than a little curious to see what’s become of it now that Roman’s no longer around.

But even though I expected to find some kind of change, I never expected to find it boarded up the way it is. The windows empty, the once elaborate displays dismantled and gone, with a door that’s not just locked but also bearing a sign that reads: closed! With the additional, hand-scrawled scribble of: For Good! Just underneath.

“I know I shouldn’t be surprised, but still, I didn’t see that coming,” Damen says, his voice soft and low, his eyes fixed on the sign. “I thought for sure Haven would’ve taken it over, or even Marco, or Misa, or Rafe.”

I nod in agreement, ditch the car by the curb, as the two of us scramble out, crossing the street until we’re standing before it. Peering through the window at some of the bigger pieces of furniture—the couches, tables, and display cases—that, for whatever reason, were left behind. Seeing that, for the most part anyway, with a few exceptions here and there, all of the smaller items like clothes and jewelry and such are all gone.

And I can’t help but wonder just whose decision this was, just who decided to shutter it for good. Not to mention just who Roman might’ve possibly left control of it to.

Being immortal and all, I somehow doubt he ever thought to make a will.

I take a quick look around, making sure no one’s paying any attention to us, before I close my eyes and open the door with my mind. Forgoing my original plan to wait until dark, figuring with the way things are going, this place could be empty by then, so it’s best to just strike while we can.

“You’ve become increasingly comfortable with the breaking and entering,” Damen says, his lips at my ear as he follows me inside. “Should I be concerned?”

I laugh, a startling burst of sound that echoes in this vast, high-ceilinged space. Motioning for Damen to close the door behind us as I place my hands on my hips and take a good look around—taking a moment to close my eyes and employ all my senses, trying to get a read on the place, tune in to where a stained white shirt might be hidden, as Damen stands beside me and does the same.

But not getting much of anything, we decide to start right where we stand. Peeking inside antique armoires, wobbly old chests of drawers, sorting through everything quickly, methodically, but not finding the one thing we need. Damen heads for the back, the space Roman once used as an office and, once inside, calls for me to join him.

It’s a mess. An absolute mess. Like a tornado blew through it. Like the fault lines recently slipped. Reminding me of the way Jude’s store looked the day Haven left us for dead—and I take it as a sure sign that she’s responsible for this.

We pick our way through massive piles of papers all strewn across the floor. Damen stepping lightly, gingerly, while I’m not quite so graceful and accidentally go skidding and surfing a few times only to have him catch me and keep me from falling.

I dodge an overturned chair, scoot around a set of truly hideous, green paisley cushions pulled from the small love seat that’s shoved in the corner, pausing long enough for Damen to remove an emptied file cabinet from my path, before we make for a desk that’s almost as littered as the floor, covered in a mess of papers, and cups, and books, and debris so thick you can barely make out the fine inlaid wood underneath. The two of us pilfering through every last drawer, every last nook, until we’re sure it’s not here—convinced it’s not hidden anywhere.

Damen stands beside me, wearing an expression that’s closer to resolve than disappointment, since he never allowed himself to believe we might find it so easily. And even though he makes to leave, I’m not quite ready to join him. I can’t seem to keep from staring at the small wine fridge in the corner—its plug pulled, its door not just left open but hanging haphazardly off its hinges.

A small, innocuous fridge with nothing special about it, except for the fact that I’m sure it was once filled with elixir, though I’ve no idea who might’ve emptied it.

Was it Misa and Marco, who were last seen hopping a fence with two duffle bags filled with stolen juice?

Was it Rafe, who, well, I haven’t seen in so long I have no idea if he’s even still around?

Or was it Haven, who, from what I’ve seen anyway, seems to have developed a serious elixir addiction problem?

And, even more importantly, does it really matter anyway, considering my only real concern here is obtaining the shirt?

Damen nudges me, ready to move on. And since there’s no reason to stay, nothing to be gained here, I take one last look around, making sure I haven’t missed anything, then follow him out the door, the two of us slipping out just as quickly and covertly as we came.

No closer to obtaining what we need, though more assured than ever that we’re definitely getting closer, definitely making progress of some sort.

Haven’s world isn’t just showing signs of wear—it’s also starting to crumble all around her. And now it’s just a matter of time until she either reaches out for help or completely self-destructs.

Either way, I intend to be there.